Bright Steel: Onward to the Horizon
by kujikiri21
Summary: He wanted to become a Hunter more than anything else in the world, even as events seemed to conspire to prevent him from reaching that lofty goal, and was willing to do just about anything to achieve it. He should have been careful what he wished for. Now follow the path of an amnesiac would be warrior as he becomes more than he was. A Hero. Has Fate/Stay Night elements/references.
1. Chapter 1

**Bright Steel: Onward to the Horizon**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Fate/Stay Night, Type Moon, RWBY or the character called Black Wing. The last belongs to the author beyond compare, Lupine Horror._

Prologue: Power and Costs

' _To Master Jaune Arc,_

 _It is with regret that we, the Board of SIGNAL Hunter's Academy, deny your application to join our prestigious school due to your failure to qualify the entry requirements. While your skills were commendable, and can only improve into the future, they have not reached the level required to enter our institution._

 _As this is also your third attempt to enter this Academy, and that you have reached the age of sixteen, we are forced, by policy, to refuse any other application into our school, as a student, that you will make in the future._

 _Your transcript, by law, has also been disseminated to all major Hunting Academies within Vytal, save that of BEACON due to being a privately funded institution and having entrance requirements that differ from our, and our sister academies funded by the government of the Kingdom of Vytal, own._

 _Taking this into account, it is sadly unlikely that our sister academies will accept you into their halls as a student and, again with great regret, suggest that you discuss with a career advisor what path that you should take in the future._

 _With sincere apologies,_

 _Qrow Branwen_

 _Headmaster of SIGNAL Hunter's Academy_

 _P.S. Sorry about having to do this, kid, but my hands are tied. Q.'_

For the tenth time that day, the scion, and heir, of the Arc bloodline, a family that had produced Hunters ever since the Great War, read the formally printed letter that damned his desired future and shattered his dreams.

A blonde head of hair dropped into the owner's hands, his face making the letter already in them crinkle slightly. Shoulders shook as their owner tried desperately to withhold the emotions that raged within him even as his covered eyes started to sting and feel hot, as if they were filling with salt water.

"Damn it!" He cursed harshly, wetly, "Damn it! Damn it!"

It had been his last chance to possibly become a Hunter! And he had blown it like a crate of Flame dust next to a fire!

His fist slammed into the ground beside him, leaving an imprint.

He had tried his best! He had fought to the best of his abilities in the combat test! He had studied as much as he could for the paper test, memorising the various types of Grimm and trying to ingraining various historical facts into his mind! But it had all been for naught.

Just like it had been for the two years before.

Jaune Arc snarled and practically threw the damning piece of stationery away, disgusted both with the trite, and very insincere (but painful and truthful), words that had been written on it and with himself, for his weakness, for his stupidity.

And for daring to have even a fraction of hope that he could have succeeded when he should have known better. The third time lucky concept only worked in fairy tales and novels, not in real life.

He took a long shuddering breath as he tried to get a hold of himself, to calm the raging temper that wanted to roar at the world like a Nemean into the night as he tried to rationalise things, to look at things from another angle.

He would fully admit that he was far from the best candidate to become a Hunter. He wasn't the fastest or most nimble of people, which in itself was a large requirement to become a Hunter due to sheer strength that many Grimm had, exceeding the level that the vast majority of Faunus or humans could obtain. Sometimes, when faced with the beasts that had no soul, all one could do was run, a Hunter knowing that he was completely unmatched and retreating one day in order to come back the next with enough strength to take the beast down.

Nor was he the strongest, though that was one of his greatest asset at present. He wasn't built like a brick wall, able to soak up heavy damage and deal it out just as much, but he could pull a bit more strength behind a hit with either blade or fist than one would expect after giving him a once over. That said, there were plenty, his age or even younger, with more strength than he.

He was also far from the most skilled in weaponry. His weapon of choice, if it could even be called that considering the circumstances under which he had obtained them, had been a plain steel longsword, much like the one that sat above the mantlepiece in its sheath at home, a relic from the Great War that had been wielded by his ancestor, Julius Arc. He had obtained it from an estate sale of a Hunter that had fallen in the line of duty a while back, managing to get it relatively cheaply (though it had cost a decent chunk of the cash in his savings account).

It wasn't much in the way of a weapon, but it was serviceable. Perhaps he could have simply taken his ancestor's sword off of the mantle to use, but he had more respect for his ancestors than that. He would only take up that weapon when he believed he had proven himself worthy of it. He had his honour and he would be damned to the Pit before he sullied it.

His skill with the weapon, that he had not forged himself, or had a custom made weapon from a professional smith, like he had heard many of those who attended SIGNAL and other Academies did, had also been almost entirely self taught, lacking either a tutor or teacher. His sisters, all seven of them, were younger than he by a few years at least, and as such had no experience in either weapons or fighting, having been too young to be taught anything more than basic self defence.

His parents, Elite Hunters both, were unable to help either, almost always too busy with the workload that Elite Hunters had to shoulder, and what free time they did have was devoted to his little sisters, something that Jaune didn't begrudge them, and indeed approved of, and had dealt with this lack oversight in his training in his own way. A personal tutor had also been out of the question, the expense of such people was prohibitive, being just shy of ridiculous, and they would, no doubt, have no desire to teach a boy with barely even an adequate grasp on fighting techniques.

Those two factors had lead him to being almost being creamed by a clearly better trained, and better equipped, opponent in the qualifying rounds of the combat test. He had managed to last two minutes against a smarmy blonde prick, with what was clearly a fake five o'clock shadow, in a cowboy hat who used a pair of six shooters with various typed Dust rounds. Jaune was barely able to dodge the bullets, and that was probably because the bastard looked like he wasn't even trying, and wasn't able to close the range between them either, which would have given the swordsman a small advantage for him to capitalise on. He had been put out of his misery when the gunslinger wannabe finally decided to end it, having had his fun humiliating the Arc scion by making him 'dance' from the rounds he had fired at his feet, and planted a pair of Wind Dust rounds into his gut and blast him off the stage. Jaune was still wincing a fortnight later from the bruise that that had caused on his abdomen.

To add even more insult to injury, the bastard had also shot his sword, when Jaune had been sent flying, with a Red Dust round, making the sword seem to explode into little pieces.

Jaune had glared at the gunslinger for doing that, only to receive a derisive sneer as the poncho wearing bastard spat in his direction and then walked away with an arrogant swagger, not deigning Jaune even worthy of wasting his breath to insult.

He could also admit that he wasn't the smartest of people. He liked to read, don't get him wrong, and he wasn't an ignorant moron. But he was more of a 'street smart' kind of kid, learning lessons in life through the school of hard knocks rather than from a dry and dusty tome. Trying to memorise facts and figures via studying just didn't click with him. He was more of a hands on type.

If he only had just one more chance, just a little bit more help, a nudge in the right direction...

He sighed heavily to himself, slumping down under the large tree that he used as his thinking spot. Who was he kidding? He deserved the rejection from the Academy. He just wasn't cut out to be a Hunter. Perhaps he should take the Headmaster's advice and...

The slight sound of clearing throat made him almost jump to his feet and out of his skin with a yelp of fright. It sounded like it had come from just over his shoulder! How the hell could someone get that close without him noticing?!

He twisted around on his rump, turning to face the person who had surprised him, and was met with one of the strangest sights he had ever seen.

"My apologies," the musical voice of the strange person said, something that looked like a weird sleeping mask made out of metal, etched with a weird s-shaped design, looking directly into Jaune's startled eyes. "I believe this is yours?" The stranger enquired, a slim, effeminate, hand with black tinted nails extended, filled with a slightly crumpled familiar piece of paper. The stranger's mouth was curled into a little smile, slightly exposing their teeth, which looked a little sharper than they really should be to the Arc scion.

The person looked young, younger than Jaune at least, though there was an air of experience, a metaphorical weight in the way the person held themselves that belied the outward appearance. Slim and not too tall, maybe around five and a half feet or just a touch more, shorter by a significant margin than Jaune's even six feet. The stranger was dressed in tightly fitting black clothes, with a full length sleeved shirt, full leg leggings (Jaune wasn't quite sure if they were trousers or some weird form of jeans) with, unsurprisingly, black leather boots and there were pieces of what looked to be some form of black lacquered armour over some of the person's vital spots, a possible indication of some who fought, whether it be Grimm or other, for a living. What skin Jaune could see was pale, very pale, but falling just shy of being called unhealthy and was only blemished by the intricate marking on the person's forehead, a perfect mirror of the marking upon the blindfold.

The most striking feature, however, was the person's hair. A lustrous dark purple curtain than ran almost to the ground that was was streaked with a few hints of black. Either it was a brilliant due job, that must have cost a fortune considering how much hair that the person had, or their hair was naturally that colour, which could be possible considering some of the hair colours that the would be Hunter had seen in the past. Jaune could also swear blind that he saw the long strands move of their own accord, but he wasn't sure.

Add on the fact that the person was completely androgynous, to the point that Jaune couldn't figure out if the person was male or female, even the person's voice not giving away any hints, and Jaune could safely say that this was the strangest person he had ever seen. Hands down.

Well...except for the One Time That Shall Never Be Mentioned. Jaune shuddered inwardly. He still had nightmares about watermelons at times.

"Haha," he laughed/grimaced sheepishly, reaching to take the paper that symbolised the ruin his life had become, "Thanks. The names Jaune Arc, sir."

"Well met then, Mr. Arc," the person said with a small smile, letting go of the paper as the descendent of Julius Arc took it from the person's hand, "Call me Blackwing."

"Only if you call me Jaune, sir," the amateur swordsman countered, grimacing slightly at the paper that had now been returned to him and slipping it into his back pocket. He would brood on it later. His problems were his own to deal with, he wouldn't let them affect another, especially one that seemed friendly, if more than a little strange.

"As you wish then, Jaune," the slim person said with a small nod, before raising a slight eyebrow, thin and dark, above the metal mask, "Do you mind...?" The person asked, trailing off as they gestured vaguely at the grass beside Jaune.

"Go ahead," Jaune said with a nod, before pausing slightly in confusion, a thought occuring to him as he looked at the blindfold the person wore, "errr, I don't mean to be rude, but do..." The Arc child was swiftly cut off before he could make more of an ass of himself.

"Don't worry," the person said with half laugh/ half giggle, which really didn't help Jaune confusion about the person's gender, as they seemed to flow, with a grace that had Jaune's hairs on the back of his neck rise suddenly for no apparent reason, to the ground into a cross legged sitting position, making it look easy, even as the slimly muscled back reclined against the bark of the old oak behind him. "I am quite capable of moving around by myself," the small smile on the pale face became a smirk as a painted fingernail, that looked almost long enough to be a claw, tapped the blindfold, "I can see quite well, even with this contraption on. I just wear it more for other's piece of mind than anything else." The blindfolded head then leaned back, as if the tree and grass were a comfortable lawn chair, and looked up into the branches, proceeding to ignore Jaune completely.

Jaune felt like an idiot, and confused, but didn't say anything a word. Better to be thought a fool than open his mouth and remove all doubt.

Seeing as the person didn't seem to be fazed at all, completely unconcerned with his company, Jaune decided to copy the person, leaning back himself to look up through the branches to the slowly reddening and darkening sky, a sign that sunset and dusk was drawing near. He decided to stay here for a while longer, it was rather calming and would let him get his equilibrium back before he returned home. He didn't want to turn his frustration on his sisters, they had done nothing to deserve that.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence between the two of them, one lost in his own thoughts, running through plans and ideas of what to do in the future, and the other just counting the leaves in the tree above out of sheer boredom.

Absently, Jaune began to hum a small tune that his father had shown him years ago, when he was still but a child, a tune that had stayed stuck in his head ever since and was something that gave the Arc descendent a sense of comfort and peace.

"The March of Cambreadth," the musical voice of the purple haired stranger came suddenly, making Jaune stop humming and turn his head to meet the blindfolded gaze of the person named Blackwing, a look of questioning on his youthful face.

"Pardon?" Jaune blurted out in question, barely managing to keep a hold of his manners that his mother had painstakingly instilled in him as much as possible in his surprise.

"That tune you were humming," the weird person explained, "It was the 'March of Cambreadth'. It's a popular song amongst warriors, particularly Hunters."

"I never knew the name of it," Jaune confessed, "or even the lyrics. It was just a tune my dad use to hum when I was younger."

"He a Hunter?" Blackwing questioned Jaune.

Jaune nodded, suddenly more somber, "As was his father before him, and his father's father before that. The Arc family, my dad's side, has had an unbroken line of Hunters going all the way to the first patriarch of the family, Julius Arc, back in the Great War."

"Impressive," Blackwing said with a degree of respect, "And will you continue that legacy? That tradition?"

Jaune flinched violently, his mood sent plummeting into the abyss of despair and disappointment. He didn't say a word, just laying a hand on the paper in his pocket, before bunching a fist and crushing it. Jaune doubted -no, _knew-_ that he wouldn't be able to. He was too weak, too unworthy, to be able to be one of those guardians of Humanity.

"I see." Blackwing's voice said softly, not taunting or comforting, just accepting what the action meant. It strangely made Jaune's mood improve a little. This person wasn't going to tease him about his deplorable skills, he wasn't going to give him false hope that he could possibly attain that vaunted rank. The purplette just accepted it, like it didn't matter to the stranger, that it wasn't of concern.

It callous, perhaps even cruel, but it was sincere and truthful, something that made Jaune feel better than the sweet false platitudes that Qrow Branwen had written, or that his mother and sisters would give when he got home and broke the bad news.

There was silence again between them, Jaune looking down, wallowing shallowly in his self-disgust, unknown to him, Blackwing eyed the slump shouldered teen that seemed older than the purple haired youth from behind the metallic blindfold.

Blackwing then spoke again, with a hint of curiosity in those melodic tones, "Are you going to give up then?" The blindfolded teen asked, quite seriously. "Will you seek another path in life? Or will you try again?"

Jaune barked a bitter laugh. If only the pale kid knew.

"I've already tried." Jaune said bitterly, his face scrunched in a flash of anger, his eyes flashing. Something that immediately drew Blackwing's attention, the seeming teen's head cocked sideways in thought and the marked brow furrowed in a speculative frown. "Twice in fact," Jaune growled lowly, an almost inhuman sound that made Blackwing's brow furrow further.

Jaune tore his clenched fist, in which was grasped his denied application, out of his pocket roughly, shaking it in front of him as he began to lose control of his temper for the first time in quite a few years.

"This was my third time trying to get into SIGNAL," Jaune snarled, his eyes becoming slightly hot, not that he noticed, as he glared at the damnable scrap of pulped wood, "It was my _last chance!_ The Hunter Academies only let someone have three shots at making the cut, then they are pretty much blacklisted from the Hunter profession. None of the other government run Academies would even spare more time for any application I make to them that it does to look up my name and record before stamping 'Denied' in red ink on it!"

Jaune panted harshly as he vented his frustration, the boiling rage and anger and despair that simmered beneath his skin, ready to lash out. To many, it would have been a surprising, not to mention possibly terrifying, sight to see the usually mild mannered teen vent his anger. His temper had twisted his visage into something darker, more primal, and his eyes burned with all the intensity of the sun.

Blackwing, however, just remained seated, listening calmly to the blonde's angered exclamations with any sense of perturbation. It would take a great deal more than just an angry face to make Blackwing shift away. The long haired teen had seen worse, done worse, over the course of the years.

"And what of _non_ -government run Academies?" Blackwing asked calmly, "I am sure that there are some private academies that could accept you...given the right incentive."

Jaune snorted, slumping back against the rough bark of the ancient oak again, staring moodily toward the setting sun, a ball of blood hovering above the Leviathan infested depths of the ocean in the distance. Above them, the shattered moon of Remnant began to be visible.

"There aren't any of those in Vytal," Jaune growled at Blackwing, angered at the implications of what the long haired weirdo had said. Though a part of that anger was also guilt and shame. He had thought of that possibility before. "Except for BEACON, but that has more stringent entry requirements than the government Academies. Besides," he grimaced tightly, "I still have more honour than that."

 _'Barely,'_ the snide voice of his personal devil whispered in the back of his mind. He ruthlessly crushed it into silence. He didn't need that bullshit right now.

Blackwing hummed in approval. "It is good to see that you _do_ have that honour," the purplette said coolly, "It proves that you understand the seriousness of the jobs that Hunters perform...and know the realities of what they face."

Jaune grunted tightly. He knew well what Hunters faced out in the Grimm infested lands of Remnant. He had seen the aftermath, the price that Hunters paid in order to ensure that Humanity survived another night.

His father had two brothers, both older, both Hunters. Identical twins. Jaune remembered playing with them when he was much younger, laughing at the strange faces they made at him. They had also taught him how to swim.

His father was now an only child. And Jaune had no doubt that, eventually, either his father or mother would become a widow/er and he and his sisters will eventually only have one parent. And it would be doubtful that they would even have a body to bury, to grieve over and mourn, in their own way.

A Hunter's end is rarely met at home.

While Jaune wanted to become a Hunter, more than just anything in his life, he was not going to put people, Hunters or civilians, at risk to obtain that dream solely for the sake of his own pride. His uncles would turn in their graves if he dishonoured the profession so.

"A question, if I may?" Blackwing said, making Jaune look at the blindfolded teen with an irritated look. Didn't the weirdo know that he was brooding? "Why do you want to become a Hunter so badly, knowing the fate that will eventually await you? Surely there is more than just family pride at stake. You don't strike me as one to follow tradition blindly."

Jaune frowned slightly. That was a rather personal question, and the answer was just as private. He really didn't want to share it with a virtual stranger that he had met only minutes ago. Yet there was some part of him that wanted to get it off his chest, to make someone understand his drive, his desires. To know that they were more than just selfish whims and a lust for fame and recognition, though he would admit, in the privacy of his soul, that the latter wouldn't be unappreciated.

"...Family tradition does play a small part," Jaune admitted after a moment, "and I can't say I wouldn't mind the recognition that comes with being a Hunter," he gave a wry quirk of his lips, "I don't exactly have much in the way of self-esteem so becoming a Hunter, something to be proud of, would really give me a boost there." The quirk of his lips turned down, becoming far more somber under the unseen eyes of Blackwing, "But mostly it is because I want to be strong," he clenched his fists tight enough to pierce through the paper in one and for his nails to cut his palm, making him bleed sluggishly, in the other. "Strong enough to protect what I hold dear, to never be helpless when they are threatened and _I am right there_ but can't do anything!" Jaune felt his eyes burn, his vision waver, and the scent of hot salt water enter his nostrils.

Jaune's mind rang with remembered screams, the rattle of chains and cruel, mocking laughter.

"Not again."

* * *

Blackwing looked speculatively at the hunched and brooding blonde haired teen. There was a story there. A big one. And the details were probably more than a little horrible.

The depravities that man would willingly inflict on their fellows never ceased to surprise him. And this was coming from someone who could be considered the incarnation, or avatar, of Angra Mainyu!

Human imagination always seemed to twist itself into nightmares if given the right push.

He turned away from Jaune Arc as his mind started to churn with his thoughts. Thinking about an experiment that he had been wanting to do ever since he had managed to find this strange world by pure accident after a bout with Gramps.

The underlying principles of this world, the Natural Laws that governed it, were quite a bit different, incredibly so, than those that were inscribed on the realities closer to his original home world. Especially in the area of metaphysics/Magecraft.

Aura and Semblances. Grimm and Dust. Men and Faunus. And a shattered moon looking over it all. It was, indeed, a world so different compared to his own.

It made the scientist in him salivate, his ever curious mind hungry for knowledge. A particular part of him, a shattered aspect of his soul, named Dream or Destruction, was particularly eager to investigate, and experiment with, the many wonders of this world that he had arrived in only a week before.

Starting with the boy that had thrown a slip of paper into his face.

One particular experiment that he wanted to investigate was that of Aura and Semblances.

Aura, in this world, was defined as the 'light of one's soul made manifest'. That description had immediately drew his attention. The description was vague, but it sounded far too similar to the magic of Heaven's Feel, or just magecraft in general, for him not to take a good look. Preliminary explorations into this 'Aura' revealed to him that it was very similar to prana, the energy used to perform magecraft. So similar as to almost be identical, but not quite.

However, the bodies of these people, to his own surprise, lacked any magical circuits through which to channel that power. Not that they really needed them. Instead, they channeled it through their own bodies.

In his world, that would have been the height of folly, much like Shirou's mistaken cannibalising of his nerves to create a temporary magical circuit, with very similar consequences. The energy of prana, of the astral plane, is not very conductive to the physical unless specifically and carefully managed and guided.

In this world, however, it seemed that this was _beneficial_. The Aura of the person naturally bolstering their physical attributes, like a constant Reinforcement of the body, even making an energy field around the person that blunted attacks directed at them, reducing the force and power of them.

Blackwing definitely wanted to have a deeper look into that. The possibilities that this could mean alone...

Then there was the real cream of the crop. Semblances.

Or something he knew better as Elements and Origins.

The Semblances seemed to be a combination of these two aspects of magecraft and harmoniously combine them to create an effect that mirrored the soul of the Aura user in some way, representing what they truly were in the deepest corners of their souls. An Aura user that had found their Semblance, Blackwing posited, and had trained it, could possibly equal a Master Magi in a similar field of study.

He knew magi who would kill for that type of ability. The gift of Aura even more so.

He eyed the boy, in comparison to his own age, carefully. He seemed to be just an average joe, at least on the surface. Nothing about him stood out amongst the rest of the population.

However, Blackwing was a master at 'looking underneath the underneath'.

If he was careful, with the right words and actions, he might just be able to get a test subject through which he could experiment (he was raised a magus, despite his loving family. Taking advantage of what resources you can obtain, even if it is human lives, in pursuit of one's goal was considered completely acceptable in that society.) and maybe, just maybe...

"A noble reason," the blindfolded teen noted to the depressed looking blonde, "and more realistic than many dreams that I have heard," the sole male gorgon scoffed slightly, remembering other foolish utterances he had heard, full of vanity and arrogance so thick that he was surprised the fools didn't choke on their words, "but even better, it also won't limit your growth," Blackwing continued, his slightly sharp canines nibbling his lip in thoughtful approval.

"...how do you mean?" Said the blonde, sounding curious against his will, making Blackwing inwardly smirk as the purplette brought the lessons he learned from his Grandfather, the King of Trolls, to bear, baiting the hook for the ignorant fish to bite.

"If you seek the strength to protect...you must never stop." Blackwing said seriously, furrowing his brow, "There is one irrefutable truth in this world." He raised a slim and pale hand, holding up a single finger to emphasise the importance of his next words. "There is always someone, something, stronger than you out there." Blackwing paused for a moment to let that sink in, "No matter how mighty you are, how much proof of your valiant deeds are laid at your feet, there will always be an existence that can hit harder than you, endure more than you, move faster than you, is more skilled than you, is just plain _better_ than you... And more often than not, that existence, that being, will be your enemy." His frown deepened as those blue eyes widened, " And the only way you can delay that, or even prevent it, is to accept that universal fact and grow from it." He made his posture more stern, like a serious professor behind his lectern, "The second you believe that you are perfect, that you believe you have reached as high as you can go, that you are safe from any and all that would seek to harm you and yours, that you have stopped trying to improve, to grow...is the exact moment when you will lose everything as you are toppled from your mountain throne by that person.

"And it will not just be you who will pay the price for that arrogance."

Those words hit the boy like a hammer, making him flinch violently. Just as Blackwing planned.

Being able to look into the souls of people, to see who they were at the core of their being, what drove them, made it almost too easy to manipulate someone.

* * *

Jaune flinched heavily at those words, the hard truth they conveyed.

He knew that he was weak, in comparison to a great many out there, and after the _Incident_ he had tried his best to become strong. Only to fail miserably if the rejection letter meant anything.

Worse yet, he had no way in which to remedy it.

He had hit a wall in his self-teaching, had done so quite some time ago if he was honest with himself. He didn't have the skills, he didn't have the brains, he didn't have the experience. About the only positive he did have was that he had a very fit body, physical conditioning about the only thing he knew he had gotten right, despite his own best efforts to expand his list of competencies.

But that wouldn't mean jack all if he could not apply it.

He wanted to grow, oh how he wanted it, but he was an acorn on a piece of cement, denied the soil and water and sun through which he could become a mighty oak, defiant against wind and storm.

More than anything, he needed guidance, a teacher. Something that would give him a chance.

But, with the letter of rejection, he had been denied that possibility.

It was like he was a goldfish in a bowl, swimming endlessly in circles, getting nowhere fast.

Which left his reason for living, his sisters, vulnerable, unprotected. Or rather not protected enough.

He growled roughly to himself, his face twisting into a rictus of disgust, for himself, for others, for life itself. He didn't really care. Life just seemed to love shovelling shit on top of him. And he was already chest deep in it to begin with.

"What would you suggest I do then?" He snarled at the composed and serious looking weirdo that had kept him company for a while, his manners finally deserting him after the roller coaster ride his emotions had been put through recently, "How should I go about 'growing'?" He said, sarcasm thicker than the oak he had been leaning against in his rumbling tones, "I would love to be able to, believe you me, but I'm at the end of my rope, reached a dead end." He almost howled his next words, " _I don't have a chance!"_

The metallic blindfold watched his panting form, the slim teen's youthful features unreadable. The purple haired person's voice, when it came a moment later, was cool, comforting, smoky, even tempting.

Seductive.

"And what if you _were_ given a chance?" Blackwing said, head tilted to the side slightly, as if examining the panting Jaune. "The chance to gain power, to gain strength? What would you do?"

Jaune's body froze, going abruptly still as a bronze statue, his face towards the ground and his blonde fringe covering his wide blue eyes from view. The swordsman's thoughts screeched to a similar halt, unsure that he had heard that correctly.

A thought seethed in the back of his mind, stoking the flames of his anger, as he examined the words the long haired stranger had spoken, and the implications that they had.

"What are you trying to say?" The blonde said lowly, a rumble in his chest. He knew a trap when he saw one, and this was almost blatantly obvious, only the flimsiest of veils being thrown over the questions. The scion of the Arc family was not in the mood to be mocked right then.

Jaune could almost feel the sly smile, a cunning smirk of delight, crossing the weirdo's face even with his face toward the ground.

"I believe you know," the purplette said slyly, before giving an over exaggerated sigh of exasperation when Jaune stopped himself from reacting overly much at those mocking words, "but, if it makes you feel better, I suppose I can spell it out for you."

Jaune raised his head to stare at the devilishly smirking person in front, the Arc's blue eyes burning with a fire that could melt steel but otherwise staying silent to listen to the stranger.

"It is within my ability to grant you power," the purplette smirked, "to unlock the potential inside of you. I can give you access to the proper materials, whether it be equipment, books or lessons, that you need to flourish and grow. To gain the strength to protect whatever is precious to you. " The smirk became a dark grin, evil and mischievous, making the strange person seem to be a delighted devil, highlighted by the swaying of the devil's long purple hair, seeming to writhe like a nest of serpents, "You just have to say the word."

Jaune's eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, tearing the grass and turf beneath them. No one was that altruistic, willing to give someone power, in any sense of the word, without getting their slice of the pie. And the dark grin on the pale moonlit face of the blindfolded teen made him pretty sure that there was something else, something that Jaune couldn't see and probably wouldn't like, to this seeming gracious offer.

"And what do you get out of doing so?" Jaune asked bluntly, more than a little angry. The weirdo was practically waving a red flag to his bull. Or perhaps, more accurately, dangling a baited hook in front of him, just out of reach. Even with the alarm bells in his head ringing, the offer was tempting. Very tempting.

About the only thing that held him back was the menacing smile on Blackwing's, if that really was this person's name, face.

The smile grew wider, "Oh just a few little things," Blackwing said airily with a small melodic chuckle, flinging a slim arm wide, making Jaune once more question this person's actual gender, the gesture was far too feminine for his taste. "Sheer entertainment being chief among them," the purplette haired demon, in Jaune's eyes, shamelessly admitted.

Jaune's jaw tensed, the Arc biting on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from voicing the vicious spiel of words he wanted to spit at the foolish blindfolded teen.

The offer, such as it was, was very very tempting, even with incredibly vague, professionally distasteful and more than mildly alarming reason that the smiling devil had for helping him. He literally had nothing left to lose if he wanted to become a Hunter.

Still, he fought the temptation and kept questioning.

"That can't be all, surely?" Jaune scoffed in ridicule. He wasn't a complete idiot. There was something more to this entire scenario that stank to high heaven. He just didn't have enough pieces of the puzzle to get an entire picture of it.

"Of course not," the person (Jaune thought he needed to really decide just what gender the purple haired teen was. It was starting to get annoying at having to think in gender neutral terms.) said, an amused look on that pale face, the smirking grin never dropping an inch, "I never doing anything without a more viable and fruitful reason. But that is all I am going to say. The rest is for me to know and you to hurt yourself wondering about."

"That really doesn't encourage me to accept your offer," Jaune growled, wanting nothing more than to take a swing at Blackwing's smug face. He had a feeling, however, that if he did he would either quickly regret it or, worse, fail to do anything at all. A flicker of thought crossing his mind halted his anger at the blindfolded teen, before letting a smirk cross his own face. Time to let the grinning bastard be the verbal punching bag for a change. "That is, if you even _can_ do what you have offered to do. What proof do you have that can convince that you aren't just blowing smoke up my ass for shits and giggles?"

Jaune took satisfaction in the fact that his last comment completely wiped the smug expression off of the teen's face. Even if it was only for a moment.

It came back ten fold not a moment later, making Blackwing look demented and twisted, a scientist that had gone over the edge. Heck, the teen's long purple tresses flailing in the air only added to the picture of insane genius.

"How about this?" The teen offered, the tone of voice sweet and saccharine and obviously fake, making Jaune's senses scream in warning, to get away as fast as possible.

He reacted too late.

Blackwing snapped those long nailed fingers, a flicker of rainbow light dancing over them as the action was performed.

And suddenly, they were both gone, in a flash of a kaleidoscopic rainbow light, leaving the park on the hill empty beneath the fragile twilight and the shattered silver moon above.

* * *

Jaune stumbled heavily as his feet landed on a hill of coarse sand, his boots sinking into ground and throwing him off balance, and soon imitated an ostrich, falling face first into the fine, gritty, and _extremely hot,_ ground.

His day hadn't been the best, so far, and it didn't look like it was going to improve any time soon.

At least Monty Oum, the Great and Powerful, was consistent with curveballs that he had been throwing at him lately.

With a muffled yell of pain and surprise, he rolled to the side to prevent his skin from blistering fro contact with the hit material. Only to be greeted by the blinding glare of a bright sun. His arms automatically snapped up, blocking the light produced by the great ball of flame, and also squinting to try and make out the sights around him, even as his mind was thrown into confusion.

Last time he checked, he was in small park on a hill in Vale at dusk/twilight. He certainly wasn't now if the blinding sun was any indication.

"Need a hand?" A distastefully familiar voice spoke from the side, humour in those words, making Jaune scowl to himself. He just had to poke the Ursa. Wonderful.

"I'll pass thanks," Jaune growled as his eyes finally began to adjust enough to able to see relatively clearly. Still squinting, he lowered his arms and began to heave himself to his feet, with a little difficulty due to the fine and giving sand he had found himself planted like a root vegetable in.

"Suit yourself," Blackwing chuckled from the side, seated, almost reclining, on a large brownish red boulder that jutted out of the landscape like a broken tooth from an old man's gums.

Finally back to his feet, and steady, Jaune took the time to examine his surroundings, scanning around with his eyes.

Bleak would have summed up what he saw. Desolate might be even closer.

From horizon to horizon, Jaune could see nothing but dark sand and rough red stone and skeletal dead trees, with a few bleached skeletons here and there, of men and beast and Grimm, to break the monotony and not a drop of water or a sign of life to be seen. It was the picture of a stereotypical wasteland.

Jaune felt a chill run down his hoodied back, despite the early afternoon heat that was practically baking him where he stood. From his geography class, he could think of only two places in Remnant that could fit the criteria for this place, and this place didn't seem to have any mountains surrounding it, thus reducing his options to one.

And that remaining place didn't have a good reputation.

Blackwing, that purple haired freak, confirmed his morbid thoughts.

"The Blood Wastes," the purplette said with a smile, unperturbed, "A wasteland that resides quite close to the Kingdom of Vacuo. Noted for it's larger than average population of Grimm and home to some of the nastier species that walk this land as well as the plentiful minerals beneath the surface. It has tried to be Reclaimed many times over the centuries. None have succeeded." The creep smirked, "It is said that so many men were killed in this place, by either Grimm or the more deplorable elements of Humanity, that the blood soaked into the very land, staining the earth forevermore, and the spirits of the slain howl their anguish in the night."

' _Fuck you, Monty,'_ Jaune cursed inwardly, ' _Seriously, Fuck. You!'_

"Are you utterly insane?!" Jaune hissed/shrieked at Blackwing.

"Quite possibly," the lunatic quipped, the freak's heels kicking and swinging atop the boulder.

"Why in the name of all things holy and unholy did you bring us here of all places?!" The blonde snarled, trying desperately to keep his voice down and rein in his emotions, with little in the way of success. Though it looked to empty on the surface, the Wastes were known to be crawling with enemy of Humanity. Only the most foolish of people would dare to tread upon these sands.

Mostly due to the true dangers that lived _beneath_ the sand and stone.

Blackwing just chuckled, melodic and mad, "Did you not want me to show you, to prove to you, that I had the power to do what I said?" The clearly insane, but still very dangerous, fool said with faux hurt, a hand place dramatically over the heart. A purple eyebrow then lifted over the metallic blindfold that the madman (or was that mad _woman?)_ wore. "Well, what do you think? Have I proven my claims?"

Jaune growled at the teasing tone in the androgynous moron's voice as he kept moving his head, keeping a careful eye on the ground, looking for any suspicious movements. The lunatic brought them both here, though how Jaune wasn't sure, just because the insane fool had been pricked in the pride?! How fucking petty.

Oh how he wanted to be spiteful and deny the mindless moron the pleasure of having him admit that the purplette did seem to have the power to do as he had offered. However, considering where they were at that moment, he swallowed heavily on the impulse, almost choking on it. As much as he hated to admit it, the flippant lunatic held all the cards here. The moron got them here and was the only way out of the death trap the freak had brought them to. If Jaune were to insult the fool, chances were that he might just be left there, all alone and without a weapon or supplies.

He wouldn't last long in that scenario.

"Fine," he gritted out harshly, as if the words were practically dragged through his clenched teeth, "I admit that you have the power to aid me. Now _get us the hell out of here!"_ He couldn't help but yell the last bit, anger and rage and a healthy dose of fear fracturing his already unbalanced emotional stability. The Arc scion flinched heavily as he registered just what he had done and frantically looked around, both near and far, for any sign of what he just _knew_ , knowing his luck, would be either relatively nearby or already approaching.

The purplette hummed at him in amusement, completely at ease and driving Jaune nuts with the freak's nonchalant attitude, as if the crazy fool was in no danger. Jaune called bullshit on that score.

The Blood Wastes were deadly even for Elite Hunters. Something that made him very eager to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Then you will accept my offer then?" The lunatic questioned, a sly smile crossing the lunatic's face, "Now that I have shown you my credentials, as it were?"

"Fuck no!" Jaune bit out sharply, his eyes continuously scanning the wasteland, particularly the sandy ground, for danger, ignoring the fact that his constant spinning and twisting made him look like a madman having a fit. "I will admit that you have power but the way that you are using it..." Jaune shook his head, "I will have no part of it!"

Jaune took a vicious satisfaction in the fact that his vehement rejection seemed to ruffle a few feathers, the powerful lunatic seeming to freeze in place, becoming a marble statue of flesh and blood. Were it any other time, any other place, he would have crowed about making the lunatic's constant smile slip from the pale face of the annoying, if massively powerful, degenerate.

But not here. Not now. He would prefer it greatly if he could keep his life and hide intact. Mainly by getting the freaking hell out of here!

"Look," Jaune Arc growled, the corner of his eyes catching movement in the dusty distance, making him snap his head to the source while he inwardly prayed that his mind was playing tricks on him while outwardly growling at still frozen form of Blackwing, one that seemed to be glaring down at him ,as if indignant and disbelieving that the Arc scion had turned down his gracious offer. "You've had your fun with me, mocking and teasing, dangling bait in front of my face before revealing it to be rancid and rotten. I've had enough. No more games. Your offer has been made. I have refused it. Just take me home." Jaune frowned worriedly as the movement became clearer, a low fleeting and flowing shadow on the sand, a wave in the sea. The wave was soon accompanied by another. And another. It seemed his luck was running true to form. "Now."

The resolute response of 'No' from Blackwing made Jaune stumble forward without even moving a muscle.

"What do you mean 'No'?!" Jaune shrieked at the, to his disbelief, _pouting_ face of the powerful whatever-the-hell-Blackwing-was (making Jaune firmly decide to refer to the lunatic as female until shown otherwise), while making sure to never take his eyes off the swiftly approaching waves of sand, ones that slowly growing bigger and taller with every moment that passed.

It made Jaune want to tear his hair out. Could nothing go his, for once, way today?!

"Just that," answered the flat chested bitch, one of the reasons that Jaune had trouble defining Blackwing's gender before finally giving up, her dainty face in a crazy smile in the corner of his eye. "I don't just offer my services to just anyone you know," she pouted, making Jaune question his own sanity for not running like hell for the nearest large rocky outcropping and instead listen to a teenage girl's complaints.

He blamed it on his well trained reactions to younger girls, having had to almost raise his own little sisters on his own due to his parents' Hunter duties. He always paid attention to his little sisters, even if he didn't always understand what they were rambling about sometimes.

"I only choose those who have a... _unique_ potential," she smiled, looking to be completely unconcerned about the approaching danger that was moving just below the surface of the sand, moving through it with the ease that fish would move through the seas. "Those who could become something out of the ordinary, a hawk amidst kites," her smile became a smirk, "a lion among mere alleys cats." Her smirk widened as Jaune got the feeling he was missing something there, "You, Jaune Arc, have that potential. And if there is one thing that I hate in this world, it is seeing potential wasted or worse, becoming a twisted and weak mockery of itself." Her face tightened, a scowl crossing that pale visage.

"I would rather have you dead than let you walk down that last path."

Jaune clenched his fists as he stared at the sand waves that were approaching. So that was the game the bitch was playing. Fucking damn it! Talk about a rock and a hard place. He could see it now.

He could refuse the offer, strange as it was and as twisted as the bitch that had extended the offer seemed to be, and he would be left in the Wastes to fend for himself, without even weapons, supplies or even a damn map. He would give himself a week, at the very most, to live. And that was if what was hidden in those waves of sand didn't tear him apart in a couple of minutes.

That was not how he wanted his life to end. He had too much to see and do to accept that fate yet.

The other option was to accept her _gracious_ offer, putting himself completely in the uncaring bitch's hands. She had offered him the chance to grow and become strong, something that he dreamed of being able to do properly. But he did not know the price that she would exact from him for it. He just that part of the reason was for her entertainment, which was foreboding in itself.

In doing this, he ensured that he survived this whole bullshit scenario, that was her doing in the first place, and would probably become little more than an overpowered monkey, dancing to her tune at her whim and fancy.

He snarled lowly, feeling the sticky heat of warm blood spilling over his palms and fingers as his nails dug into his hand.

Die on his own merits or Live with a chain that could be pulled at any time. That was what it came down to as far as he could see.

He closed his eyes in anger, his frame trembling. There was no real choice. Had it just been for him, had he only sought strength for himself, he would have made a choice that his ancestors would have been proud of.

But he did not seek power for himself, not completely. He had seven other reasons to gain strength. And he couldn't do that if he was dead.

Jaune snorted bitterly. His ancestors must be twisting in their graves at what he was about to do.

"The offer you made before," Jaune enquired, his eyes still closed, his ears picking up the hissing of large amounts of displaced sand. He didn't have long before they showed up. Better get a move on. "Is it still on the table?"

"It never left," the manipulative bitch responded, a hint of smug satisfaction in her tones that made the Arc heir want to turn around level her with an uppercut, lady or not. The whorish witch had just been playing with him, making him squirm and writhe. It stoked the fires of his rage. "I take it that you wish to change your mind?"

"I don't really have a choice now do I," he said with enough sarcasm to weigh down a Bullhead.

"Everyone always has a choice," the girl's voice admonished him, making him snap his eyes open and fix her blindfolded face with a glare that would have turned her to ashes if it were capable of doing so. "It's just the choices are almost always uneven."

Jaune narrowed his eyes at the washboard bitch, biting back words he knew that he would regret voicing. She was the one with the power here, not he.

Jaune glanced back over to the direction of the approaching danger. The sand was visibly roiling now, pushed aside by the massive beasts that traveled through it, the waves reaching over his head in a dark red rooster tail of sand and dust. He was not ashamed to admit that the sight made him more than a little scared. He knew exactly what was behind the cause of those waves and the reputation that they had.

Only an ignorant fool wouldn't feel fear.

"Still," Jaune practically jumped out his skin as the word was whispered into his ear, hot breath brushing the shell and lobe, making him turn to face the cause of the surprise, the sight of which made him stumble backward.

Seeing a blindfolded face centimetres away from his face would do that to any person.

"Formalities need to be observed," the girl went on, as if she didn't even notice his surprised actions and unmanly yelp of surprised fear. Her voice then took on a deeper, and much more serious tone, her posture straightening, making her seem to tower over him despite her shorter height. "Do you, Jaune Arc," she intoned, her words heavy with purpose and authority, the air suddenly seeming to become electric, charged with power, "accept the offer of Strength and Power made to you by Harry 'Blackwing' Potter of your own free will?"

Shocked at the, now revealed to be, male's abrupt change in attitude, he could only dumbly nod.

Jaune got the feeling that the boy (and wasn't that a curve ball! The younger teen looked more feminine than his little sisters!) rolled his eyes beneath his blindfold in exasperation. "I need a formal verbal confirmation, idiot." Blackwing snapped quietly to the heir of the Arc legacy.

That caustic comment got Jaune's brain back in gear, his blue eyes narrowing in a glare at the condescending bastard in front of him. He was silent for a moment, contemplating the thought of rebellion just for the prick's arrogant attitude. But a quick glance towards the oncoming wave of sand, and what was hidden beneath it, had him stifling any flippant comment.

"I, Jaune Arc," he said firmly, if quickly, keeping a eye on the swiftly approaching danger as he did so, "do hereby accept the offer of Strength and Power from Harry 'Blackwing' Potter of my own free will."

"An accord had been reached," Harry intoned, his voice deepening and seeming to resound in the area, like a god giving their judgement, even as the air seemed to become electric and the skin of the younger, thought Jaune was beginning to have suspicions about that, man began to give off a subtle glow. Jaune suddenly felt a small pressure on his chest, making him glance down to see a slim and pale hand resting, hovering, directly over his heart, giving off a much brighter glow than the rest of the purple haired boy. Jaune could also faint see, beneath the boy's fingers, a swirling ball of ebon darkness and shining silver the size of his fist that, belatedly, made his instincts scream a warning, telling him to run, to get away. "a deal has been made. As it has been willed, so mote it be."

The bastard's hand then thrust forward, piercing Jaune's heart with the ball of swirling power and energy, not even disturbing the skin as it entered Jaune's body.

Everything, at least to Jaune, then seemed to freeze in place, the whole world going silent and still. He could see every mote of sand in the air, pinned in place like a butterfly in a collection, unmoving. He could hear nothing, his hearing oppressed by the heavy unnatural silence, not even sound waves appearing to have escaped this brief frozen moment in time.

His body refused to move, not even able to twitch a finger, as if he were a statue. It was an eerie situation, and one that brought him to the border of panic. He was helpless, vulnerable, and he couldn't get away from danger. His primal instincts screamed at him in panic.

Then he felt it.

A warm throb went through his torso. And another. And another. Each throb was accompanied by a burst of warmth that didn't go away, slowly making him feel warmer and warmer. The throbs, like heartbeats, also came closer and closer together, to the point his chest felt like it was a maracca filled with burning beads.

The heat had also spread, going along his arms and hands, down his legs to his feet, and then up his neck to the very top his head. He even thought he felt his hair grow warmer and warmer.

And it wasn't stopping. It kept rising and rising, becoming hotter and hotter, to the point that he thought he would burst into flame. And yet he felt no pain, nor did see any burns developing on his body.

The air around him, still frozen, also began to change. Starting from where his heart would be, a soft golden glow began to form, thickening as time passed to the point of becoming liquid golden light, like a syrup if he was to be honest. A liquid that then began to spread across the entirety of his body, spreading out from his heart to reach his extremities. All the while, the glow from it became more intense, more powerful, to the point of being almost painful for his eyes to watch.

Yet he could do nothing, unable to move, unable to even _blink._

His entire torso and legs were encompassed by the bright golden liquid, as well as the majority of his arms, even as it also began to creep up his bare neck, making him feel like a hot ooze was flowing up his body, making him panic more than a little, trying valiantly to move his arms in an attempt to brush it off. It was unsuccessful.

The syrupy energy some reached his eyes, making his vision twist and swim, like he was underwater, almost immediately making his headache fiercely, compounded by the raging heat in his chest and the intensity of the golden light. Whatever was happening to him, he knew that this disconcerting and, frankly, terrifying position was only the prelude, a lead up to the climax.

Something that happened the moment he felt the water of light reach the crown of his head.

Suddenly, everything went white, the pressure and heat in his body suddenly seeming to explode out of him, making Jaune feel the unique sensation of his body becoming a bomb even as the golden liquid that had clung to him like a second skin was torn away from him. Pain the likes of he had never felt before seized a hold of his mind, his thoughts fracturing under the onslaught of the horrible sensation, burning away under the scorching heat and power that he had somehow had within him, even if only for a brief time.

Befuddled by pain in his body and mind and soul, Jaune vaguely thought he heard a massive roar, one that seemed to embody the hungry roar of flames, the primal roar of a beast and the hellish roaring cacophony of the battlefield.

Then darkness overtook him.

* * *

Blackwing felt something go wrong the second he touched the small construct of magical energy to the Arc boy's 'core'.

He had been going to awaken the boy's Aura, a process that was similar to awakening one's magical circuits, requiring a small amount of foreign energy to 'jumpstart' the core, like turning the ignition in a car to start the engine. This little fact had made him very certain that there was a large relationship between Aura and Prana, even if he hadn't quite pinned it down, and made him more than a little eager to explore and experiment.

Harry felt his prana settle into the Arc's being, mingling with the boy's dormant energy, and gave it a mental prod, spiking his prana inside the boy to provoke a response. He got it. Just not in the way that he wanted.

The awakening of one's circuits, and what he had seen of Aura, was generally quiet, if slightly painful for the recipient (in the case of magical circuits) or tiring for the awakener (in the case of Aura) with maybe a slight glow to accompany the procedure.

In this boy's case, however, the reaction was like a bomb going off, or like those monkey tailed warriors from that manly screaming anime ascending to another level of power.

His prana, when it touched the boy's own power, had reacted in an odd way, provoking a response from the boy's Aura, which made the prana respond strongly as well, thus provoking another strong, more powerful, Aura reaction. It repeated in an endless cycle, taking place in less than a moment, creating a cascade effect that Harry was suddenly helpless to stop. Eventually, these reactions would reach their respective peaks and then...

Harry felt it coming, the rising tide of raw power that had been unleashed, a sleeping dragon awakened, a titan unchained from their prison in Tartarus, and reacted within a split second.

An almighty crack, like a massive bullwhip being swung, rent the air as he Apparated away from the bomb that was called Jaune Arc.

He reappeared with another powerful crack before the first one had finished...a mile straight up. Another twist of his will and black wings erupted from his back, allowing him to, with a degree of magical assistance, hover in place in the sky.

It was as well that he did, otherwise he would have missed the show.

A massive shockwave of power roared from the boy, golden in colour and clearly powerful. The cascade of power tore through the landscape like a fire through dry brush, a golden wave of energy and heat that consumed all that stood before it. Even the three Grimm that had been swimming through the sand toward him and the boy were not spared the fury of this power, being turned it ash and vapour beneath the now glassed sands that had hid them.

Harry was impressed with the display, showing him that he had chosen correctly when he had picked, even if it was by chance and convenience. But he was also worried, though not for himself as it would take something much more powerful than undirected raw power of this level to do him in, but for the health of his new guinea pig. This reaction was _not_ normal in any sense of the word, even with the unknown effects of awakening Aura with prana, and bared investigation. Could he have done something to the boy? Done damage in some manner?

The wave of power ravaged the landscape for a time, extending for nearly half a kilometre, before seeming to stop in place, crackling and burning and roaring, like it had hit a wall that refused to give way before it, or perhaps a dog that had reached the end of its leash, making the blindfolded young man raise a delicate eyebrow in curiosity. That was not a natural reaction. Harry flickered his gaze into his soul sight to examine the phenomenon and his eyes, beneath the blindfold he wore, widened in shock and disbelieving understanding even as the golden energy began to reverse its course, revealing the destruction that it had wrought upon the earth.

"That shouldn't be possible," he whispered to himself as the energy rolled back, showing the grainy stained glass that the ground, of sand and stone, that the affected part of the Wastes had become, the heat that had been contained within the explosion of power glassing the very ground. His disbelief slowly ebbed from his pale face and change to an almost wild smirk of glee. "But damned if I won't find out how it is!" Harry laughed, almost cackled, to himself as he angled his wings into a dive towards the retreating energy. He had really hit the jackpot with this kid!

He landed gently on the glassed ground, right in the centre of the deep and massive crater that had been created by the outpouring of the boy's power, just near the now dimly glowing boy.

"Quite the impressive display, kid," he said to the unconscious boy with a wide smile, "once you get some proper lessons and experience, with time, you are going to be _the_ force to be reckoned with on this planet." He frowned slightly, his eyes focusing on something that only he could see within the boy, something that told him that, when he awoke, the boy would not be the same as he had been before. "Though it won't be without cost to yourself."

He reached down and, with a graceful lift, threw the kid's insensate form over his shoulder, preparing to move away from the place they were to a more suitable location.

Twisting on his heel, Harry Apparated himself and his new experiment away, his mind already planning what to do with the boy.

* * *

A blonde boy's eyes suddenly snapped open, going from awake to asleep in a fraction of a second, alert and ready to move at a moments notice.

That alertness quickly fled as he groaned heavily, a hand snapping up to his forehead, cradling it due to the pain that emanated from it, even as he squinted through the pain to examine where he was, his confused mind only adding to the pounding headache that plagued him.

Yet even as he did so, a part of him felt wrong, detached, even hollow. As if he were missing something, something important and vital, but didn't know what it was.

The place was dark, a small blessing for his pounding skull, and dim but he could see fragile shafts of light descending here and there from whatever was above him. His hand that was not clutching his aching head felt dust and solid stone beneath his palm and he could, faintly, hear a steady drip of water coming from somewhere in the distance.

At best guess, he thought he was in a cave or cavern of some sort. However, that didn't really help things, especially since didn't know _where_ this cave was. It could be situated near the top of mountain for all he knew. The fact that he was in a cavern, though, as begged another question.

How did he get here?

He tried to remember what he had been doing, what events had lead to him waking up to this strange place.

This proved to be a mistake.

His mind was instantly assaulted with images and words, a tangled mess with reason or order that confused him utterly and didn't make any sense. Disjointed and blurred, something that didn't help his headache.

There were a few things that stood out though, images and words that seemed significant to him somehow, but lacked the context through which he could understand them properly.

 _Sword._

 _An image of a mantlepiece, above which hung a sheathed blade. It was familiar somehow, but it evoked strange feelings within him. A desire, a promise, an oath. A drive and determination. A yearning._

 _Family._

 _A large wooden table, stacked high with plates of food, was surrounded by several people. Two adults, a male and female, and seven children, all girls, each of them with blurred out faces. They all devoured the hearty repast in front of them and, somehow, he could feel their contentment and joy, even as he could not here the words they said between themselves. Comfort filled his heart as he watched this scene. Something about it made him happy, as if it were a special occasion or a rare treat to see._

 _Horror and Desperate Rage._

 _A dark figure stood over something, someone, tied to a chair in a large open but dark room, lit only by the weak moonlight coming through a large window, throwing everything into shadows and darkness. He felt fear and rage as the image, the_ _ **memory**_ _he realised, showed a brief glint of light hitting metal before it plunged down toward the helpless restrained victim. A scream, a roar and the rattling of chains erupted in the vision even as it blurred and faded out into a deep crimson._

The last memory left him gasping, the residual parts of that memory making his body tense even as his mind remained confused and that hollow feeling in his mind grew stronger. What had all those scenes meant? Of what importance to him where these memories?

More and more questions mounted up in his mind. He felt like something was wrong, as if the whole world was off kilter.

But one more than any stood out. A single question that filled him with a sense of loss and horror. A sign that something was wrong with him.

Even with the blurred memories that had been shoved into his head, grinding against the forefront of his mind, there was one thing that he didn't have an answer to. A simple four word question that he should, that anyone should, have been able to answer even half out of their mind's and dying in ditch from fever.

What was his name?

* * *

 _Click!_

"File note: Subject has awoken from his slumber," a melodic voice spoke, seeming to address themselves, "Initial observations of his behaviour upon waking, in particular the clutching of the subject's head and the classic signs of panic, ie laboured breathing and dilated pupils, indicate possible decline in cognitive functions, particularly those in relation to the retrieval of memories." The speaker observed the furious shaking of the young blonde's head on the small screen showing the panicked young blonde man, the speaker's lips pursed in thought.

"Possible partial amnesia is suspected," the speaker continued, "even likely, due to the events taking place during the subject's Awakening and the subsequent damage that resulted. The extent of it is unknown at this time and will remain so." His brow furrowed as he noted that his blonde subject had managed to calm himself, mainly by closing his blue eyes and breathing deeply and slowly. A strong will, this one has, to be able to control himself like that. "I hypothesise that, in time, the subject's memories will completely return, despite the impossibility of it all, as he recovers from the damage that the Awakening inflicted on him, owing to his unique Origin. The length of time required for this to happen is unable to be accurately estimated at this point, due to lack of hard data, but I believe a full cycle of this planet's orbit will be sufficient, again due to the nature of the subject's Origin. End note."

A shock of purple hair, like a long serpent, depressed the record button on the dictation machine he had been using to record his thoughts.

"Well," Harry 'Blackwing' Potter, the Infinite Archive and Tenth Dead Apostle Ancestor, sighed, raising a slightly shaking hand to shift his hair behind him again, "this has been an interesting day."

And wasn't that one hell of an understatement!

He brought his shaking hand before his eyes, examining it for a moment. It was far from unblemished, large burns running across the palm and fingers, with some charring down to the bone in a few places. The injuries were the consequences that he suffered for being an impulsive idiot in trying to Awaken someone's Aura with his prana. Honestly, he was lucky to still have the hand at all considering the kid's raw power and his Origin.

Still, it had worked, perhaps even better than he had thought it would. If he had tried to awaken anyone else's Aura, he probably wouldn't have been affected at all. The kid's Aura was just really _really_ incompatible with Harry's own natural power, which was one the reasons for the very violent reaction from the kid. The Aura had sensed what it believed to be a threat, right in the heart of its territory, and had blindly lashed out, damaging the kid in the process.

It had made have to change a few things around, but his experiment was still viable and would yield results with time. Perhaps even better ones than he had originally intended. The backlash of the kid's Aura was a blessing in disguise really. He would be able to keep his side of the bargain with the blonde young man, granting him the Strength and Power that he so desired and that Blackwing had offered, and would barely have to lift a finger more than he already had.

Especially after the little tricks he had performed on the kid while he was out cold, something that he was able to do after he had understood why the kid's Aura had acted in such a manner. He could just sit back and observe how the kid reacted to the situation he had put the blonde in with various instruments and spells and he would have the vast majority of the data he needed to make sense of this world and all its mysteries. Dust, Aura and Grimm.

He laughed softly to himself as he idly watched the young and ignorant Jaune Arc look around himself in the dark cavern, his blue eyes slightly bright, before they opened slightly wider at seeing a small pile of useful items that the Infinite Archive had left for him.

It was couch potato science at its best! A reality show with a scientific twist!

His blindfolded eyes noted movement on the edge of the surveillance spells frame on one of the magical monitors he was using to view the area and his subject, and mentally shifted the view just a touch. The sight revealed to him made him smile slightly, taking in the numerous red eyes, bestial and maddened, that were shown.

Time to see how his intrepid little guinea pig dealt with his first challenge.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _Well, I hope you guys all like this new story._

 _I was inspired to make a Jaune-focused RWBY story after reading 'The Games We Play' by the famous author, ryuugi, on Spacebattles. His realistic depiction of Remnant, how it was formed and the history behind it, was absolutely staggering and is beyond compare. The amount of work it must have taken to hammer out all those small details must have been back-breaking! But, as a result, it has created a story that has little to no equal. All praise the mighty ryuugi, King of all Authors! And keep up the good work!_

 _I doubt mine will be as good, but I plan to make at least a good attempt at it._

 _You will note that I have also borrowed the character of another author, Harry Potter from Lupine Horror's Fate's Gamble, who will be a sort of narrator/chronicler of the story, watching the actions of Jaune from afar. He will occasionally show up in person, acting as either a plot device or a deus ex machina as needed, so keep an eye out._

 _He is also there due to the fact that I noticed how close Origin and Semblance seem to be to each other, at least in a way. Further explanations into the exact relationship between them, and between Aura and Prana, with their similarities and differences, will be shown later in the story._

 _Also, to all those RWBY purists out there, be prepared for some head spins, as Jaune is going to be a badass, eventually, on the level with some of ryuugi's characters in TGWP. I mean, seriously, some of the Semblances and other tricks that his characters have are so ridiculously overpowered and utterly bullshit that it puts Wildblow's Worm or DC and Marvel out of business! And he still manages to make it so that they have to work for their victory!_

 _(I personally think that Conquest from TGWP is an absolute overpowered asshole. I hope that he gets his in the story when he and Gamer Jaune no doubt meet again. There will be blood and I hope the White Tiger will be the one to spill it.)_

 _In any case, Jaune's new abilities will be slightly showcased in the next chapter, along with small revelations of the 'tricks' that Blackwing pulled on the goofy blonde. He will also be acting rather OC, though I think you call all had a good guess why he would. If your are all observant, you might just be able to guess what Jaune's Origin is, and perhaps the abilities he will demonstrate in the future because of it, and perhaps where I got the inspiration for his new abilities, though they will be at their most basic at the moment, mostly due to Jaune not really having a clue what is going on._

 _A cyber cookie, as well as a chance to design a powerful Grimm, will be offered to the person who gets it first. And by powerful Grimm I mean something that stands out above the rest, a named Grimm like the Ziz from TGWP, though not quite as powerful but still legendary and old._

 _Also, at the end of every chapter, I will do a Grimm Profile. Something that will show the abilities of whatever new Grimm I decide to make myself. Here is the first one._

 _Species: Shamir_

 _Description: They appear to look like massive worms, with bony ring segments lining every foot of its often immense body, the normal black flesh of these Grimm only seen either in the thin slots between each ring of bony armour or when it opens its four jaws to devour its prey._

 _Habitat: Blood Wastes in the Unclaimed Lands, just outside the Vacuo border. But it is also, rarely, encountered in other sandy deserts around Remnant, though it is noted that those inside the Wastes are the biggest._

 _There is also an unconfirmed rumour of one of these monsters being seen outside of deserts, in more fertile lands, able to move through soil with just as much ease as others of its kind do sand. This claim is, as yet, unable to be substantiated due to lack of hard evidence._

 _Behaviour: They are sand swimmers, gliding beneath the sand's surface like a shark through the water, often in packs up to five to six, though it is noted that the larger the pack the smaller they are individually. Their favoured method of attacking is either the stealthy approach, appearing directly underneath the poor soul it has chosen and and swallowing them as they drop into it's massive maw (a method that is usually reserved for the most massive of the species) or the aggressive approach, charging across the sand, pushing the material aside, in an attempt to lunge and grasp their prey in their jaws._

 _Abilities: This species is downright horrifying to fight, requiring either a specialised tool or Semblance and a damn good plan, hellish accuracy and good luck or lots and lots of fire and enough Flame Dust to level BEACON. Generally, especially in the older specimens, one doesn't even know that they are around until you are already falling into their mouths, in which case it is a bit late to try and fight them._

 _They can travel deep enough underground as to be out of the range of most sensory techniques and can cover that distances, if motivated, faster than a Hunter can run or a Bullhead can fly._

 _Their segmented armour is also a nuisance, very thick and close together, to the point that a slip of cardboard would find it hard to slip between those small gaps. The only truly vulnerable spot is when it opens the four beaks of its mouth, revealing the fleshy insides when it does. However, they generally only do this when they either go for the kill or when it wants to spew forth a biological acid that can etch glass and eat through stone like a fire would consume paper. To make it even worse, this substance can excreted through the creature's skin._

 _The damage this liquid, thought to be a derivative of a normal Grimm's toxic flesh, can cause to either human or Faunus is abominable and painful beyond telling, often resulting in either extremely heavy scarring or crippling injuries, if they survive an encounter with one of these creatures in the first place. Hunters caught by it often amputate the appendage just to get rid of the pain._

 _One advantage, though I hesitate to say so, that a Hunter has over this creature is eyesight. This creature is, in fact, completely blind. It more than compensates for this, however, with the ability to sense vibrations through the air or through the ground, pretty much rendering the weakness void._

 _It most horrifying ability, however, is its ability to regenerate at astounding speeds, a wound sometimes closing a mere second after it has been inflicted, which is why either copious amounts of Flame Dust or a Hunter with powerful skills revolving around flames and Fire are absolutely essential in taking one of these monsters down, due to the nigh impossibility for burns to heal properly._

 _The most terrifying aspect of its healing ability is shown when some fool manages to completely cut the creature into two pieces horizontally through the gaps between the ring segments. Its healing ability works over time and soon, like some nightmare come to life, the poor fool ends up facing two Shamirs instead of one, each half of the creature becoming a new one._

 _Again, it is fire that solves this problem, the cauterisation of each stump completely negating this massive worm's troublesome ability._

 _Add in the fact that these creatures have been recorded to be as long as a Schee Dust Company freight train, and can be about twice to thrice as wide, along with the enhanced reaction time that is common to all Grimm and the flexibility that the being has due to being based upon a worm like creature and you having something that is truly the stuff of nightmares for even Elite Hunters._

 _Tactics: Either get off the ground, get on a surface of solid stone, run like hell to said areas or try and kill it with lots and lots of fire and hope it works. To try and do otherwise will just result in a letter to your next of kin and a closed, but empty, casket at your funeral._

 _Danger Rating: Rank A (Rank SS if one is unfortunate enough to encounter Crom Cruach, the King that Crawls.)_

 _Powerful bastards aren't they? And it makes Jaune even more intriguing considering he wiped out three of these hellish monsters just from the backlash of having his Aura improperly Awakened._

 _Hope you enjoy the story._

 _As always, please leave a review._

 _Cheers,_

 _Kujikiri21_


	2. Chapter 2

**Bright Steel: Onward to the Horizon**

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Fate/Stay Night, Type Moon, RWBY or the character called Black Wing. The last belongs to the author beyond compare, Lupine Horror._

Chapter 1: Surrounded By Vermin

The blond youth was greatly confused, bordering on panicking.

 _He didn't know his own_ _ **name**_ _._

A person's name was the very core of their identity, their most important and valued possession. All of the actions one has taken in their lives, all the choices they have made, be they for good or ill, are all ascribed and recorded and connected to the word that they are addressed by, making that word embody the very concept of who that person was.

To not have it, to not have a name, was to be nothing, to have nothing. To not even exist in the world and to never have existed, one's previous accomplishments rendered null and void.

To not have a name but, at the same time, know that you exist...it is not something that can be adequately described but is, nonetheless, _maddening._

' _Okay, bro,'_ the youth thought to himself, frazzled and hanging on the edge of his sanity by his fingertips, the loss of the very core of his identity shaking his very foundations, mind, body and soul, ' _keep it cool and try to work things out. Panicking won't help.'_

The young man's breath slowly evened out as he closed his eyes and thought of calming things. The wash of the waves on a beach, the sound of a breeze blowing through the trees, the comfort of sitting before a hearth fire and letting it warm him on those cold nights. He felt his heart slow down, his panic begin to leave him, as he thought of image after image.

A few moments later, he opened his eyes, orbs of blue fire aglow with peace and determination.

' _Okay,'_ he thought to himself, ' _the time for panic has passed, the time for resolution starts now.'_

The boy slowly lifted himself off of the cold stone upon which he had been laid sprawled and inspected his surroundings more thoroughly, an unknown instinct telling him to take stock of surroundings, to aware of them as much as he could.

His first impression had been correct, he was clearly in a large cavern. Stalagmites and stalactites littered the uneven, but relatively flat, floor and the high ceiling, enough that, as his eyes tried to pierce the shadowy gloom, it gave him the impression that he was looking down the hungry, fang filled, maw of a beast.

Or he was already in its mouth, looking out at the world from behind its teeth, awaiting to be devoured.

He shivered inwardly at the morbid observation and continued looking around, closer to himself this time, as the darkness allowed him to see little beyond maybe a hundred feet. He wasn't sure _how_ he could even see that far, as he saw no visible light sources, but didn't bother to look further into it. Never look a gift horse in the mouth.

He scanned himself while he patted himself down, dimly hoping for something that might explain either his current situation or reveal something about himself. Most people didn't go anywhere without some form of identification, though how he knew that was a mystery. It was a long shot but maybe...

He unfortunately didn't encounter any notable lumps in the thick denim of his jeans that might have indicated a wallet, nor did the two belts that criss-crossed his waist have anything hanging off of them, and his upper body was sadly completely bereft of cloth and cover with the exception of a thin but durable and tight sleeveless shirt in a darker colour that he couldn't quite make out (something that made him wonder why he didn't feel a cold chill from laying upon solid stone. In a cave like this, he knew the stone floor should have been cold as ice and very uncomfortable. Yet he had felt nothing in regards to that.), but he could instinctively tell that, along with his leather boots, that the articles of clothing he wore were of good quality, tough and durable, the clothes of worker or a traveller, and could withstand a great deal of punishment...so long as he didn't deliberately try to destroy them in some fashion.

His eyes, however, as they perused his clothing, also noticed a large cloth wrapped bundle placed against a small group of three stalagmites, right near where he had been laying before his sudden awakening.

He fell upon it like a starving man upon a feast laden table.

His fingers paused the moment they touched the wrapping of the strangely feathery feeling bundle, feeling a sudden warmth flow from his chest, his heart, up to his shoulders and then down his arms to his fingers before flowing outward from his fingertips, like warm water from a shower trickling over his fingers. It was an odd feeling, strange in fact, but seemed... _right yet unfamiliar._

The bundle reacted to this strange sensation by giving off a dim light, bringing colour and greater definition to the cavern. He welcomed it.

The bundle's wrapping was strange to his eyes, seeming to made of thousands of individual long crimson strands of hair or fur, or even fine silk for all he knew, long enough to possibly make cloak or long cape, and was slightly ragged at the end. With the glow coming off of it, it made itself look like it was on fire or created from crackling flames, the individual fibres it was made of rippling like writhing embers or tongues of flame.

He brushed his hand through, feeling the white glowing strands flow between his fingers, his eyes filled with a sense of wonder. It was beautiful sight, whatever it was. A glint of metal drew his attention to the top of the bundle, noting that it came from a thick band of golden material, like a collar. He reached for it with his other hand, immediately feeling smooth metal with small gaps and joins and a strange feeling length of some sort of cord.

It was a clasp, he realised. Wordlessly his nimble fingers loosened it, drawing out the cord and snapping it open, revealing to him what the bundle's wrapping, that he now knew to be cloak or cape, had contained.

As marvellous as the cloak that the contents of it had been wrapped in was, the said contents were as mundane to look upon.

Contained with the folds of the still glowing cloak were four objects.

The first was a small, but bulging, pack with a baldric-like shoulder strap, filled to the brim with what he recognised, somehow, as trail mix and jerky. Further inspection showed that, if rationed at one pack per meal, three meals per day, it could last him at a month. That revelation made his hopes dim a fair bit.

People didn't pack that much food in a carry pack unless they were going to use it. And with the types of food he saw, meals for those that took long treks into the deep wilderness, far from civilisation, he doubted that, even if he got out of the cavern, that he would be anywhere near a convenient location for a rescue and, considering his scrambled memories, he would have no clue where he was in relation to civilisation.

He was when and truly lost in the middle of nowhere. Without any support and with only his wits and his body as his allies.

He shook of that maudlin thought and kept inspecting his newly acquired acquisitions.

The second thing in the bundle was both easily identifiable and yet oddly strange.

It looked to be an old fashioned waterskin. A really old fashioned one if the fact that it seemed to be made of some type of white animal skin and had a small nozzle that he thought was made of ivory or bone. While it was clearly full, practically bulging, it was also rather small, holding maybe a litre of whatever liquid was within, not nearly enough for a seasoned traveller to use. The strange thing about it was the blue markings that seemed to be dyed into the skin, twisted and flowing and sharp shapes that littered the outer surface of the skin made of some type of blue ink or dye. It honestly looked like a child's random squiggles when they were first trying to right the alphabet.

Yet, somehow, those blue scrub longs made his skin prickle, the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, like he was standing next to a power transformer, an invisible but almost tangible sense of power emanated from those markings.

There was more to that skin than met the eye, he was sure of it.

The third object was by far the smallest of the lot, able to fit in the palm of his weathered hands.

It was a medallion, with a chain attached to it so that it could be worn like a necklace.

A flat disc, like an oversized coin, of what seemed to be, much to his surprise, burnished and polished gold, without any sign of tarnish or wear, like it was newly created or crafted. The design upon one side of it was that of a rayed sun, every second ray slightly indented and shorter and than the previous first. The other side was even simpler, that of two arcs going from one edge of the medallion to the other, carved deeply into it, looking like a rainbow's arc.

' _Arc..Arc..Arc! Arc! Arc!'_ His head rang rang with the word, the taste of familiarity on his tongue.

His temple pulsed and throbbed hard, making him grunt, the second symbol swimming in his head, the word ringing in his ears, screaming familiarity and recognition, images of a white shield with the same design upon its face surfacing in his mind. He knew that symbol! Somehow, in some way.

Slowly, the sudden pounding in his skull slowly died away, leaving him with only a single word that could help in his quest for his identity. His breath once more became even and deep.

He quickly flicked on the medallion, the cold chain that held it resting on the back of his neck while the medallion itself rested above his heart.

Hopefully, this medallion would help him find a bigger and better clue than a simple three letter word as to who he really was...eventually.

His eyes then traveled to the last and largest item that rested upon the glowing cloak, his hand reaching out and lifting it off of the glowing cloak.

It was a sheathed sword. From the pommel to the silver capped pointed end of the black sheath it was roughly four feet, if he was any judge. The weight, just by lifting it, was decent, but not exceedingly heavy, a blessing for anyone who wielded a blade. The hilt was in a simple cross formation, without any embellishment, and the grip was wrapped in rough leather, all the better to be held.

It was of plain design, eschewing decoration for functionality. It was soldier's sword, made to be used as the weapon it was, not to decorate a mantlepiece and be gawked at by others.

He ran a finger over the straight crossguard, a small frown going over his face. The only odd things about it was the fact that he wasn't sure that, judging by the hilt, that the sword was not made of steel. He wasn't why he thought this, there was nothing about the way it looked that made it seem any different than any standard steel blade, but there was something...

He shook his head, stopping the train of thought, and shifted his eyes to the other oddity of the still sheathed blade. The pommel stone.

It was a perfect orb, a sphere, the unnaturally shaped object grasped firmly by the three claw-like extensions of the hilt, keeping it firmly clasped in the hilt's embrace. It was also an odd yellow in colour, more of a bright gold, and semi-opaque, but was clearly not of metal. In fact, it seemed to be more like a crystal, whether it was a gem or simply solid coloured glass he didn't know. It was only colour, save for black and polished metal, that was on the blade. It was oddity that stood out on the otherwise plain hilt, emphasised only further by the soft glow it began emitting when his bare fingers touched the metal crossguard.

He could feel a trickle of the warm power flow from him into the blade and thence to the orb, an almost identical sensation to when he had grasped the cloak. What was this power he felt emerging from his very core? And why did it seem to react to these two objects?

He frowned deeper and set the question aside as he then grasped the dark sheath just below the crossguard of the sword. He could dwell on such matters at a later time, when he wasn't literally lost in the dark and trying to find a way out.

With a forceful flick of his thumb under the crossguard, the sword was loosened in its sheath, a small portion of blade exposed as the hilt jumped up. The business portion of the weapon shone softly in the light with gleaming sharpness. His other hand let go of the cloak of flame, the light from it dimming slightly but not disappearing, and used it to grasp the hilt, the wrapped leather fitting well in his hand, familiar and odd at the same time, as if he had handled a similar blade in the past, and drew the sword completely out of the sheath.

Like the rest of the sword, the blade was exceedingly plain but also clearly functional. A simple longsword, double-edged and razor sharp, that some part of him told him was a little wider across than normal. It was blade that meant business, designed to cut and pierce those that stood before it. It wasn't too light, nor was it too heavy. It struck that fine balance between the force it could apply and the ease with which it could _be_ applied. Just by swinging it slowly a handful of times in the light of the cloak, his muscles moving instinctively in a certain pattern once he had grasped the sword's hilt, he knew that he could keep swinging it for hours on end.

It was a well made, if simplistic, blade from what he could tell and having it gave him a sense of relief. He had a means to defend himself from the predations of both man and beast other than just his fists, even better was that his body and unconscious mind knew how to wield said weapon even if his conscious mind did not.

He glanced over his meagre possessions once more. Things could have been much worse. He might be completely lost in a cavern that was who knows how deep and who knows where and with a complete of memory as to how he had got there and lacking even the knowledge of his name or history, but at least now he had food, water (even if it was limited until he could find a stream of clean water), a way to defend himself and, he fingered the golden medallion, a possible clue as to his identity.

It was a start and gave him a fighting chance. Time to take advantage of it.

With an ease that he didn't know he had, he slowly slid the sword back in the sheath, the slight grating hissing whisper of metal brushing metal loud, but comfortable, in his ears. With a slight click, the crossguard met the locket of the scabbard, holding the weapon in place. Another click sounded in the darkness as he clipped the scabbard comfortably on one of the belts he wore on his left side, the chape of said sheath just missing brushing the ground by a handful of inches.

The other parts of his small stash were also quickly placed in their appropriate places on his body. The pack full of food rested easily on his back, its baldric shoulder strap aligned comfortably on a diagonal angle across his chest, going from his right shoulder to left hip. The strange water skin hung easily from the right side of his waist, attached to one of his belts, and didn't throw his balance off thankfully. Over the top, the crimson cloak was thrown, immediately blazing with a brighter light once his hand had touched it once more, and was swiftly clasped around his throat.

It seemed that he had slightly underestimated the size of the cloak as it was a full length one, brushing his ankles, and engulfed him completely, front and back. The only things that could be seen when he wore it were the tips of his boots and his head. As it wrapped around him, he felt a trickle of the strange power that he let unconsciously flow into it flow back into him, suffusing him with a further feeling of warmth.

Intriguing but of no importance at that moment.

His blue gazed around at the cave, his brow furrowed in thought. Fact was, he had no clue where he was or where to go. One wrong move in this cavern and he could end up going deeper into the bowels of the earth rather than towards the surface. He also knew that natural caves, which he believed this place to be, were rarely had tunnels designed for navigation.

In other words, just because a tunnel went up at one point, it didn't mean that it would lead to the surface and might instead be only a delay for him to plunge into the depths of this underworld. Nor could he expect that the tunnels that had lead here were all tall enough for him to walk through. No doubt there would be a degree of crouching, crawling and belly wriggling involved at some point.

It was honestly a predicament that he was unsure how to fix and just wandering aimlessly would as likely result in his premature burial in this place as much as it could result in him escaping, or perhaps even more so.

Yet he couldn't just stay put...

He sighed heavily, palming his face in frustration. Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Just great.

* * *

"File Note: Subject has obtained the objects that were left close by." Blackwing's melodic voice spoke, cool and clinical with every word, "of particular note is the response of the cloak that was provided. Each strand of fibre in the cloak reacted to the Subject's very touch. Considering the origins of the cloak, this proves the Subject's Origin beyond doubt. It has also shown that this Aura of the natives of this world is confirmed to able to affect the world outside of the organism that it comes from. How much it can do so and and to what extent is still up for debate."

Blackwing took a breath, glancing at the surveillance spells again, despite the blindfold he wore, noting the shifting black shapes with scarlet eyes that moved across the face of it. A mapping function that he had used on the cave system, similar to the Marauder's Map of Hogwarts, showed the relative position of the confused and worried blond swordsman in comparison to certain beings that would no doubt like the youth's liver on a plate. The creatures were getting closer and closer, but they were still a few cavern systems away from the youth even as they made a bee line for him, not stopping and scurrying fast, driven by an urge that he had yet to understand.

"The Grimm, an odd set of beings on this world (and a possible candidate of this world's answer to my own world's Phantasmal Beasts. All though if they are, they would be very low ranked back home.), Remnant, that seem straddle the line between flesh and spirit, appearing in various bestial like forms, and are completely antagonistic to the sentient species of this world, seem to have the capability of sensing said sentient species once they are within a certain range, possibly due to a reaction between the sentient's Aura and their lack of one, regardless of the obstacles between them. A small swarm, numbering between a dozen and twenty, of one particular branch of Grimm are currently making their way toward the Subject.

"The upcoming combat data will be recorded for later analysis."

* * *

The blonde frowned heavily and suddenly, pausing in his careful stride, as he heard something over the dripping of water from the ceiling hitting the floor, his bright blue eyes squinting slightly to try and discern what was causing the odd sound.

Some time ago, his indecision at which direction to take had come to an end as he noticed something that had escaped his discerning eye before.

By chance, he had hung his head after sighing and palming his face at his situation when he had caught movement out of the corner of his eye and had frozen. His eyes suddenly becoming watchful, his body tensing, as he feared something was sneaking up on him. In a cavern so clearly deep beneath the ground, who knew what was down here and what intentions they harboured?

He relaxed again when he had noticed that it was only the fibres of his cloak moving, flickering slightly. It had been a false alarm. However, his thought processes halted as he ran the thought through his mind again.

The fibres of his cloak had been _moving,_ rustling, despite him standing stock still. The fibres and strands had also flickered, dimming slightly, almost guttering in fact...

Like a candle flame in a breath of wind. Wind that did not naturally happen underground.

Except when one was near an entrance to the upper world.

He had watched his cloak carefully for a full minute, just to ensure that it wasn't his eyes and mind tricking him. Sure enough, his patience was reward by another ruffle of his cloak, stirring and swaying like curtains in a breeze.

Without a single hesitation, he had strode in the direction that the weak blast of air had come from.

It had been rough going for him. The floor was uneven, loose scree from who knows what and where, along with a raised and buckled stone floor that sometimes dipped and raised steeply like a succession of small hills made up the majority of his path. Rarely did he encounter flat and relatively even flooring, and when he did it was almost always slippery as a result of water falling from the roof of the cave.

Not to mention that his route in this labyrinthine location was hardly straight, he was almost certain that some of these tunnels doubled back on themselves like the spine of a serpent. Both of these factors definitely slowed him down. But he doggedly kept moving, chasing the gust of air that occasionally brushed against him, the ruffling of his cloak his guide.

He was thankful, though, that he hadn't needed to crawl on his knees or belly yet so far.

He was now in another high-vaulted cavern, though this one was smaller than the one he had awoken in, the light from his cloak reaching the far ends of the cave, illuminating all within it, even the spiked ceiling. He could see, through the stony forest of stalagmites upon the floor, a sort of junction on the other side, three different exits from the cavern he was now in, excluding the one that had he had used to access the cavern. Considering how close they were to each other, he may have a difficult time choosing the correct one to venture through. The breeze he used to determine his path was a little imprecise, especially when the options to choose from were so close together making the breeze behave wildly and erratic, confusing the trail.

But that was the least of his worries at the moment.

Over the soft and persistent sound of dripping water, he could hear the sound of scratching, hard and grating even if the volume was low. The sound echoed oddly in the cavern, making it hard to determine from whence it came, and was slowly getting louder.

He frowned slightly. The scratching reminded him of something. It was clearly not a workman and his tools, the scratching far too rapid and haphazard and it seemed to come from more than one source. If he was honest with himself, it sounded like an animal's claws scrabbling over rock and stone, though far louder than anything his subconscious could recall.

A chill went down his spine for some reason at that realisation, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and he found his hand already wrapped tightly around the hilt of his weapon, his legs dropping into a slight crouch much to his slightly confused dread. His body was readying itself to fight as if it was anticipating danger was approaching.

He didn't know why his brow was suddenly coated in a cold sweat. He didn't understand the reason that his eyes kept glancing around the cavern, nervous and anxious, looking for a way out.

All that he knew was that his body, his instincts, his very _soul,_ screamed at him that danger was approaching and that he had to prepare for it.

He heeded that call and his muscles firmed, his stance grounded and his now drawn sword, the pommel stone glowing brighter than it had before, like a golden fire, stopped shaking in his hand as the scratching and scrabbling sounds got louder and louder, a cacophony that made it almost impossible to think as it echoed around the cavern, making him think that thousands of beasts, with screeching hisses and snarling shrieks, were descending upon him.

It soon turned out that he wasn't far off.

* * *

It had been too long since the Horde had made a kill.

None of the Bright Ones had ventured into or near their den for many Suns. Far too many. The Horde had been forced to go into the Cold Sleep to stop themselves from Fading.

But now they had been Awakened from the Cold Sleep. A Bright One was near. A strong one. One that would fall to fang and claw.

The Bright One was Powerful, an Alpha amongst the Bright Ones, making some of the Horde cautious. The Horde had faced such foes before, Bright Ones who used their Light as their claws and fangs, their hide thick and hard, their movements fast and strong. It was a powerful foe.

But it was also alone.

Alone and Afraid.

The perfect Prey.

The Leader shrieked a call as the Horde moved through the tunnels of their den, the Lessers moving forward first, ahead of the rest of the Horde, bursting into a sprint towards the light they saw at the end of tunnel and the waiting Prey. They would weaken the Bright Prey, wound it, bleed it. The rest would follow, coming to make the Bright One Fade.

The Horde would make a kill this Sun.

* * *

Like a wave of darkness they came, streaming out of the rightmost tunnel and then flowing over the loose stones and rocks on the floor of the caver, weaving through the smooth pillars that arose from the floor and cascading over each other with hisses and snarls as they all glared at him with eyes of blood and filled with madness and hunger as they bared their claws and fangs at him.

He couldn't help but feel a frission of fear, suddenly shocked, at the sight before him.

The creatures were large, each coming up to the middle of his thigh whilst on all four of their sharply clawed paws. Their scarlet eyes each filled with a lust for blood and their coats, to a one, from their tapered head to their larger and wider and higher hind ends, a uniform abyssal black, seeming to absorb the light that touched it. Their tails were long, about the length of their bodies, and whip-like, flicking and lashing the air as they came. Their front teeth shone eerily, like white daggers, as they hissed and snarled. A few of them, but not many, had protrusions of white bone, like a fragment of a carapace, on their bodies, breaking up the darkness a little.

A fragment of memory jostled loose in his head as he saw those scarlet eyes, those black bodies and the white bone that seemed to have grown on some of them. A single word that made his heart clench and his knuckles whiten as his hands gripped his sword harder than before even as other memories, ones of blood and darkness and death, flickered on the edge of his mind. He whispered it aloud as they came, a harsh breath before the oncoming tide of malice and hatred.

" _Grimm."_

And then, between one breath and another, they were on top of him.

* * *

For all the fear that surged through him at that moment, slowing his arms and freezing his feet, he was still able to respond to Grimm's charge.

The first of the wave met a quick end. It had leapt up at him, jaws wide, as it came to just out of his strike range, launching itself toward his head and throat, intending to tear them both apart. A tilt of his torso and harsh swing of his blade ended that, the edge of his sword almost tearing the Grimm's head from its narrow and hunched shoulders, a viscous red liquid, that was too thick and dark to be normal blood, spurting from the wound. The force of the blow also knocked it off course, sending it flying away from him to hand with a wet thud. Still. Dead.

One strike, one kill. A decent job so far.

But this was only the beginning. There were quite a few more.

The fact that he was able to kill one of these foul creatures loosened him up, his fear shoved to the back of his mind and his muscles unlocked from their fear induced paralysis.

This fight had only just begun.

Two of the Grimm scuttled and scampered quickly, going low and aiming for his ankles and legs, as another hopped and bounded and then leapt for his chest. He focused on those three quickly, his eyes narrowing.

Not good.

He couldn't afford to dodge the airborne one, it would end up behind him if he did, forcing him to split his attention to fight on two fronts. Only a fool, and a soon to be dead one, does that if he doesn't have to. If he dealt with that creature though, he would be left open to the attack of the two aiming for his legs, each of them the size of a relatively large dog, with the chance of making him lose his footing and go down.

In battle, 'Down' is equated to 'Dead'. It was something he kind of wanted to avoid if at all possible.

Neither option was something he desired. He lost whatever option he chose.

So he chose Door Number Three.

He Improvised.

He took a quick step forward, while at the same time thrusting the point of his sword forward, using the force generated by the step to enhance his sword strike, skewering the feral Grimm like a roast on a spit, the sword piercing through the underbelly and exiting the creature's back. The Grimm went limp almost immediately. Killed.

His sword was sharp, he realised, very sharp. He had barely felt any resistance to plunging the blade into the beast's flesh. ' _Was that normal for a sword?'_ He absently thought, still very much focused on the battle, _'Or was there something special about this simple blade, more to it than met the casual eye?'_

He grunted at the dead weight of the Grimm on his extended sword for a moment, the creature being heavier than it seemed at first glance, before using that weight to accelerate a downward cross slash toward the two Grimm about to harry at his ankles.

The dead creature upon his sword made for an excellent makeshift mallet, knocking both of the heavy beasts back, sending them sprawling for a time beneath the corpse of their comrade that had slid off of his sword blade. He blinked for a half a moment, surprised at his own strength.

His eyes then flickered towards the rest of the wave of scuttling creatures, another three almost within range to pounce and strike at him! And there were another five after that if his eyes didn't deceive him! Damn they were fast! If he stayed on the defensive, the blue-eyed blonde knew that he would be overwhelmed in very short order. These strength of these beings, as large as they were, clearly did not lie in the individual, nor did they work like a pack wolves, co-operating to bring down the larger prey.

No. Their strengths, like that of the rodents that they were shaped like, lay in the endless swarm. Wave after wave of assault, unceasing and unrelenting, attacking from all sides. Eventually, their larger target would slow. They would tire. They would weaken.

And then, inevitably, they would fall.

Any wall can be battered down, any castle can be crumbled, if enough force was applied ceaselessly and consistently. Nothing stands eternal.

On the other hand, while their swarming strategy did very well against those who defended...

His hands firmed on the leather grip of his longsword and stepped forward into the fray, two lightning quick thrusts to the skulls of the rodents, their heads splintering beneath the quick blows, that were beneath their comrade ending that particular threat, allowing him to face the last eight of the beasts freely.

...It didn't seem to do so well against those who went on the offensive. Especially as they didn't seem to know fear, to know when to retreat, merely throwing themselves at him in a frenzy.

His 'blood' soiled sword, that he idly noted was also glowing slightly, struck out around him, shattering bone and piercing flesh with every blow. The next three of the beasts felt the bite of his blade most keenly as he hacked and hewed at two them, his attacks made difficult due to how low they were to the ground.

Two skulls splintered even as the third leapt up at him, making his eyes widen slightly. He couldn't bring his sword around in time to knock it away! Instinctively, he rose his left arm high, attempting to shield himself from the attack.

The weight of the oversized vermin landed directly on his arm, claws digging slightly into the bare flesh of his wrist. Yet, strangely, the weight was not as much as he thought it would be, not even forcing his arm down, and while he felt the pressure of those jagged claws, he felt no pain, nor was his skin broken by their lethal sharpness.

The rodent's fangs didn't do much either, save for making his skin feel like it was being pinched by a clothes peg, albeit rather hard and with a great deal of jerking and thrashing as it hung there attached to his wrist, scarlet eyes glaring at him with inhuman and crazed hatred.

A sense of confidence and vexation at his apparent foolishness filled him.

Had he truly been afraid of these rodents? Especially when their attacks, now that he had experienced them, were so weak as to be ineffective?

With a sharp jerk of his arm, the massive rodent was flung away from him and into the creature's kin, sending them all tumbling.

While his wrist didn't show so much as a scratch.

A fire was lit within him and, without his notice, his cloak brightened, and his blade glowed white, like hot metal in a forge. And a glow danced and skittered across his skin, an aura, an armour, of light against the darkness.

 _Not anymore._

He leapt into the fray, sword extended, suddenly moving faster and seeming stronger than before, as he took advantage of the creatures' confusion. The sole of one of his boots met the vulnerable neck of one of the scrambling beasts, the bone giving way with a muffled crack and snap.

With all the ease of snapping a dry twig.

His sword was an arc of white light, flashing through the air, as it rent two of the rodent's heads from their shoulders. In one swing.

Three to go.

Another Grimm met its end as it leapt at him, like many of its fellows. It was caught easily by its throat with his left hand and just as quickly dispatched as he squeezed. Hard.

The resultant corpse was thrown at one of the creature's distracting it, a dog shaking its toy hard before releasing said toy from the clasp of its jaws, while he moved in on the other. A boot to that one's face knocked it back, stopping its attempted assault on his legs, before a single sharp stab ended it.

Then there was one.

It was leaping for him, coming from the side, where he couldn't easily respond with a slash or stab. Either pure luck or bestial cunning on its part. But it wasn't enough.

He felt his foot slide back, his body following, as everything seemed to slow down to his perception, like it had been for a while, ever since the fight had begun if he was honest, but he had been too focused on the battle to realise it until now.

The flying rat passed through where his torso had been just before, moving through the air like it was water. He was not above taking advantage of such an opportunity.

His sword swiftly raised high and descended to do its grisly work, to perform the action for which it was made and crafted.

In a moment, it was not one Grimm that was in flying leap, but two halves of one twisting in the air.

The blonde warrior heaved a sigh as he watched the remains of the Grimm land with a splat upon the cave floor, feeling his muscles relax slightly. He raised a hand, shaking slightly, to his brow, wiping away the sweat that had developed there.

The encounter with the beasts had been quick, lasting less than a minute.

But, as he looked at the aftermath, the strewn corpses of the dead feral beasts, his body felt like it had run a marathon. His limbs trembling slightly and his breath coming in uneven pants. But his grip on his blade stayed firm and his stance wavered not and his mind was still sharp and aware.

"Well," he panted to himself, looking at the resulting carnage with wide eyes, as if he couldn't believe that he had wrought such destruction to mere beasts, even if they had been the ones to attack him first, "that was...interesting."

* * *

"Indeed it was," Blackwing hummed as he eyed the slightly tired physical state of his little guinea pig, the dimensional traveller's mind already storing away the knowledge and data gained from just watching the boy fight. It made his hand twitch oddly, like it was reaching for a weapon to use, the urges from his Tyrant aspect surging in his soul.

It was more than clear that the boy was almost completely untrained in the use of the blade. He knew the basics of the basics. Footwork, grip and strokes. That was all he had. The boy had none of the tell tale signs of someone with a sword style that they had religiously practiced for years. His skill was, at best, brawling with a blade.

But that just meant that the boy had more potential.

The basics gave him a foundation which, while not as firm as Blackwing would have liked but nothing that couldn't be remedied by copious amounts of live experience (something that he had noted the boy was severely lacking. If he had had a sparring partner on a semi-regular basis, some of the mistakes that he had noticed the boy make would not have shown.), would allow the youth to eventually branch out, exploring the styles that this world had to offer when the time came, to see which one might mesh with his other skills and personality. Something that Blackwing thought may be a bit difficult to find. Especially given the attributes that the boy's Origin had gifted him.

A form of unconscious and seeming permanent Self-Reinforcement that seemed to do no harm to the body, making him stronger and more durable than he should be, even considering the boost that he had observed activating someone's Aura conferred onto the recipient, that seemed to able to further boosted by either his emotions or through unconsciously pumping more Aura into the ability. Being a practical _reactor_ for Aura, his levels of power not only massive but kept topped up even as he used them, meaning it was almost impossible for him to run out of Aura even if his body waned and weakened on him. A seeming growing skill with blades (while he saw the mistakes the kid had made in the confrontation with the black rodents, he was also sharp enough to notice the improvement in skill, small though it may have been but still impressive, during the very short engagement.) that was only just beginning to make itself known, with a hypothetical rate that was absolutely ridiculous.

And these were only the passive abilities that he had noted. The boy had yet to tap into his true potential, unleash the true power of his Origin or Semblance, and would likely not for some time yet, not unless he was pushed to his limits and tried and tested. And when he did...

Blackwing couldn't help but smile to himself, a satisfied smirk of accomplishment, as he imagined the power that his little guinea pig/foolish student would one day wield...provided he lived long enough to attain it.

Even just having these passive skills was impressive and made him a possible candidate for the Saber class alone. Albeit a rather weak one.

Proper training would only make him better.

But that would be at a later time, when and _if_ the boy managed to make it back to civilisation.

The kid wasn't out of the woods, or the cave in this case, just yet. Round two was about to begin.

The blindfolded purplette watched as the slightly tired blonde youth abruptly straightened from his tired slump, his blue eyes wide with slight shock as he looked toward a tunnel entrance, seeing the scarlet eyes that glared out.

Blackwing idly turned the monitoring spells he had trained on the boy on once more, not willing to a moment of data from the upcoming battle.

* * *

An air rending screech, that bounced off the walls of the lighted cavern making a cacophony that made his ears feel like they were bleeding, made the young swordsman start back to attention, his sword clasped tightly and his shoulders straight and eyes darting around to find the source of the ungodly noise.

He was quick to find it, the slightly glowing scarlet eyes of Grimm not doing much to hide them from his now wary and alert eyes. The moment he laid eyes on the source, however, he wished he hadn't.

Scrabbling out of the tunnel that the previous Grimm had used to enter the cavern, came what he could describe as their 'big brothers'.

Half again as large as the last lot of Grimm, these beasts looked far more intimidating and a hundred percent meaner than their smaller counterparts. Each of them, on all fours, would have been level with his heart. There were more of those plates on them than the smaller ones had, thicker and some even had spines, spears of bone jutting out of them like an obscene and malicious form of armour. All of them also had bone helmet, like their skull was on the outside, making their glare even more menacing, as well as thorny bone growth of the very top of their tails, looking like the head of a spiked mace, making the appendage just as much as weapon as their teeth and claws. Just looking at them gave the young man a scare.

These ones also, in contradiction to the actions of their smaller brethren, didn't charge him mindlessly, trying to dog pile him beneath the weight of their numbers. They prowled, slowly and steadily spreading out, making him have to slowly back up so as to keep them all in sight. Those feral gazes gleamed with a hunger just like the smaller ones, but there was also a degree of caution that the smaller ones had lacked, a primal understanding that the foe they faced was as much a danger to them as they were to it.

This would not be an easy battle.

And it was only made worse by the mammoth hissing and snarling of the last creature to step a paw out of the tunnel, backing up the other three.

The boy felt his blood turn to ice as he beheld the immense beast that was revealed to him, the heavy weight of fear resting over his shoulders while his mouth went dry and panic wedged in his throat, making him almost want to choke.

While the tunnel entrance that the beast came out of would have easily let the boy through, with plenty of room to spare in width and height, the massive beast's girth and height filled it completely.

Menacing red eyes glared at him through the white skull helm it wore, white spines rising out of the back of said helm, seeming to create a cruelly regal crown. A strip of white bone ran down it's spine, short spikes jutting upwards from it as if it's back bone had emerged from beneath its dark flesh and black bristly fur. This strip of bone continued even onto its extremely long whip-like tail, the spikes covering said appendage looking to be more curved, sharper, like a weapon. Just as much as its jagged claws and dagger length gnashing teeth.

This one was a monster. No ands ifs or buts about it. Plain and simple.

At it looked like it wanted nothing more than to tear open his stomach and sill his innards on the cave floor. How wonderful.

He gulped inwardly as he eyed them all, menacing hissing growls coming from the smaller ones while the king, its eyes horrid and primal and piercing, was silent as it glared at him.

He couldn't retreat as the only entrance was a distance away. While he was closer to the entrance, the smaller brethren of these beasts had proven themselves to both agile and swift. Possibly swift enough to cut him off. The only option he had...was to fight. Fight to survive, to live.

Even if the chance of victory seemed slim.

His hands tightened on the hilt of his sword, his tired body going into a slight crouch, readying himself for the battle that was to come.

The King seemed to agree.

The massive creature gave a piercing howl, a shriek that made the very walls of the cavern tremble beneath its furious onslaught.

With a higher answering growling squeal, the three smaller ones charged.

With their King slowly following in their wake.

* * *

He knew had his work cut out for him as he watched these larger rats move.

They were fast, faster than anything their size had the right to be in his opinion, cutting the distance between himself and them swiftly, becoming almost jagged black blurs as they leapt agilely towards him. In comparison to their smaller brethren, who scuttled and scurried along the rocks, they pounced and leapt towards, covering ground faster and making their path more erratic, harder to predict, as if they were black lightning.

The world just seemed to love messing with him.

The Royal Rattiness, on the other hand, seemed to be content in prowling along behind its smaller fellows, coming at him slowly, letting the smaller ones wear him down in order for the crowned rodent to finish him.

Bastard.

The blonde focused on then first one to meet with him, coming from his left and slightly ahead of the others that were both coming from his right. A pincer move that would prove deadly to many.

Hopefully that wouldn't be the situation with him. Hopefully.

He didn't even think about match the now leaping creature strength for the strength, the difference in mass between them was clearly evident, and he also wasn't sure that his blade could pierce or cut through the ivory armour that appeared here and there upon it. Not to mention that, if he committed with a sword blow with it now, he would left vulnerable to the two coming from the opposite direction. Not an ideal scenario for him to be in.

So, instead of blocking or defending or dodging, he did something a little different.

He stepped forward, toward the pouncing creature, and just slightly to the side, leaving him just of the arc of its attack, and then his left hand released from his grip on the hilt of his sword and whipped out to grasp the small ruff of fur behind its narrow head, the grimy texture of it making him want to cringe in disgust.

He ignored the sensation and held tight, his arm following the arc of the creature's leap, before suddenly stiffening his arm, planting his feet firmly in the stony floor and wrenched his torso and arm in another direction.

There was resistance, a weight that made him grunt, but not out of pain, as he sought to alter the trajectory of the airborne rodent. The weight of the creature was an anchor in the air, a heavy drag, and his grip on the neck ruff of the Grimm threatened to slip. But he managed to succeed.

The whip like movement of his arm sent the oversized rodent right into the teeth of its brethren, his own strength added to the creature's own leap giving the makeshift vermine projectile enough force to send them tumbling and rolling a good distance through the rocky scree with squeaking roars.

He went to leap after them, to take advantage of their confusion, and tensed his muscles to do so, when suddenly, his mind screamed at him to _MOVE!_

He obeyed, lunging into a roll away from his previous position. And it was just as well that he did.

In his roll, he saw a thin white blur slam down on his previous spot, smashing into the stone floor with an ear splitting crack. Whether it was because of the stone giving way and crumbling beneath the force of the white blur, revealed to be the bone armoured tail of the crowned rodent Grimm that was still ambling, almost arrogantly, towards his position, or because said blur had moved fast and hard enough to imitate a bullwhip he didn't know or really care. All he knew is that things were definitely not going his way. Especially with the massive armoured rodent now willing to join the fray.

He was back on his feet again swiftly, his back to one of the stalagmites that littered the makeshift arena the cavern had become, his hands clutching his sword as he now kept a watchful eye on the rodent with the bone crown as well as on the more immediate threat of the now recovered others. At least those three were all coming at him from one direction now, no chance of a pincer move that could end up with lying in the floor trying desperately to hold his own guts in.

The three smaller, for a given value of the word, rushed him with knee-weakening snarls of rage and hatred, making him have to give them the majority of his attention.

He scowled as he noticed that he wouldn't be able to attack them, possibly killing one of them, without leaving himself wide open to reprisals from the other two. That meant he would have to go on the defensive, which was only a delayed death sentence at best, especially with the royal rodent slowly approaching and willing to use that damned tail to interfere if it so desired. Not to mention that his current load out didn't exactly lend itself to defensive tactics, lacking any form of shield or armour (he somehow didn't think that whatever had stopped the fangs and claws of the smallest rodents from piercing his flesh would be able to withstand the bite and slash of the larger ones, let alone the arrogant royal. And he had no desire to test that theory either.)

Luck just didn't seem to be on his side today. At least not _good_ luck anyway.

But how to turn it around? That was question of the day.

The smaller 'Noble' rodents charged him, their movements as swift and erratic as before. The youth knew he needed to find a way for them to come at him in a manner of his choice if he was ever going to live to, hopefully, see the sun again.

His hand brushed against the smooth cone of stone behind him and a sudden idea blossomed in his mind.

Hopefully, it would work.

Without a second thought, he whirled around to the other side of the pillar of stone jutting up from the floor, putting it between him and the 'Nobles'.

Doing so began a dance that gave him the advantage...for a change.

The three rodent Grimm were forced to split around the pillar, their black river forced to flow around the boulder in front of them. The stalagmite was large enough to force them to part but, at the same time, didn't allow the blonde youth to lose sight of any of them.

Two of the 'Nobles' split to his right, making the youth automatically move to his left, meeting the lone rodent, sword first. Prepared as he was, and despite the rodent's own not inconsiderable might, the Grimm fell to a single swift blow, a blurring thrust of his blade directly through the abomination's throat.

He didn't stop to celebrate his victory, yanking the blade out and swiftly, but deftly, stepped towards the falling and spasming corpse, once more placing stalagmite between himself and his now reduced foes.

If he could keep them split, able to direct their avenue of attack and limit their options, them he might just yet achieve victory...at least against these two. He doubted the same strategy he was using now would be effective against the massive and hulking beast that, even now, was prowling toward him. He could feel the heavy glare from the creature weigh heavily upon his shoulders.

He would have to finish this portion of the battle quickly.

The smaller rat-like Grimm spun on their toes, redirecting their paths and coming at him again. Once more, the stalagmite he stood behind forced them to split. To his left he stepped forth once again, aiming to cut down his foe.

Only, to his horror, to completely miss as the targeted Grimm, showcasing a degree of cunning and awareness that he hadn't yet seen from them, seemed to flow low to ground, ducking under the strike and swivelling on its toes as it came around the spiked column of stone, its back exposed to him, and using its unique weapon.

A bony mace head, the size of basketball, hammered directly into the boy's gut due to the nimble creature's lashing tail.

The youth felt his breath leave his lungs, his body bowing slightly under the force of the unexpected blow, his limbs going numb. Then he was sent airborne.

The damp air of the cavern whipped by him as he flew, his cloak ruffling about him so that he looked like a blazing comet, shadows dancing within the cave as the light source of it went along with his flying body. But those brief thoughts in his mind were only mere dregs, the majority of his attention focused on the pain in his chest.

It wasn't as bad he thought it would be, merely like someone had gotten a good strike, a punch, in, winding him and leaving him gasping with a few spots in his eyes. But the feeling he had was outweighed by realisation of the force he knew had been applied, enough that his body, a healthily developed elder teen, was now being flung through the air like a man would toss a rock.

As far as his muddled mind knew, this type of blow would have utterly destroyed a normal person. The human body just wasn't meant to endure that type and amount of punishment, not without serious consequences. Consequences that didn't involve merely simple winding.

What the hell is he? Did it have something to do with the weird power he could feel flowing from him?

He didn't have any more time to ponder his dazed but insightful thoughts as his brief flight was terminated against one of the larger collections of stone spires in the cavern. With a slightly sickening thud and a loud crack, which he dearly hoped didn't come from his spine, he struck it, winding him again as the small pack he wore dug slightly in the small of his back, and fell briefly to the uneven stone floor on his butt, his mind dazed and breath gasping.

That had _hurt._ For the first time since he had awoken in this dank and miserable underground maze, he had felt pain. A pain that was swiftly disappearing as he felt the warm sensation of that odd power being focused on the small of his back, his head and his gut, like the injuries were being healed at an accelerated rate even as his mind became clearer and his vision stopped swimming.

Despite his still slightly dazed mind and pained body, he swiftly scrambled to his feet, more than aware of his vulnerability in the current circumstances and thankful that he had managed to keep a hold of his sword despite what had happened. The battle wasn't over yet and the only time someone lost their feet on the battlefield was when death was not far behind.

He had barely managed to get back to his feet and set himself when the two 'Noble' rodents were almost upon him.

Through pure luck, the small 'thicket' of stone spires he had landed amongst gave him an advantage. Said stone structures, untouched by the hands of men, were too many and too close together any more than one of them to come at him from any direction, being forced to weave through them to reach him and barely having room to move otherwise. He, on the other hand, a certain amount of space to move, centred around the larger spire of rock he had impacted against, a towering oak amongst the smaller willows. Enough room to swing a blade without any hindrance.

He felt a crooked smirk cross his face. Inadvertently, the rodents had practically gift wrapped their forthcoming destruction and handed it to him on a silver platter. And he wasn't above taking advantage of it.

He rushed toward one of them, the one that was about to breach the 'tree line' into the 'clearing' first, and stifled a smile as he saw that the oversized vermin had chosen the worst avenue to take toward him, a gap in the stone spires that was thinner than most, making the rodent have to squeeze through to get at him and limited its options at attacking while also slowing it down.

It let out a gurgling squeal as his blade flashed, practically tearing out its throat with a single swipe. A second back-handed one ensured its death as its bone helmed head was severed cleanly from the body.

His present foe dead, he was already spinning on his toes to meet the last of the smaller rodents as it breached the line as well, charging him with a roaring shriek that made his ears ring and the cavern vibrate and echo. The spires created a makeshift arena around the two of them, one that he hoped that the massive 'King' would not be able to penetrate, at least not for a time, while he was busy with its smaller underling.

Fighting both the underling and the 'King' at the same time was not something he wanted to do.

He dodged the whipping mace headed tail of the creature as it attacked, the long appendage snapping around the owner's long but squat body like a swift curving strike of a scorpion's tail turned ninety degrees, by shifting back a step, not willing to challenge it with his blade. He eyed the spiked ball momentarily as it passed in front of him, too quick for him to strike at, remembering the pain he had felt when one of them had hit him before. Those things were dangerous.

The rodent lashed out with its front claws, a swipe that could have torn his head from his shoulders. Steel met bone claws with a dull scraping sound that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and making him shiver slightly, as he deflected the strike, the power behind it surprising him slightly, and retaliated with a backswing that the creature rear back slightly.

His eyes flashed as he saw a chance to end it quickly.

He swiftly cut at the creature again and again, advancing quickly, not giving the creature a chance to do anything more than retreat, rearing back further and further, becoming taller and taller, even as it staggered back on its hind feet only. It was not a natural position for the Grimm to be in, its body just wasn't hardwired for bipedal locomotion, and the sheer size of the creature prevented it from using its tail or fangs to reach him when he was already in so close. Its front claws were its only viable weapon, a weapon that he knew how to deal with, dodging in close like a boxer.

Once it had reached its full height, the youth ended it, stepping in so close he was practically breathing in the creature's grimy fur, despite it having a stench that almost made him ill, not only rendering it unable to touch him but leaving it at his, non-existent, mercy, and buried his sword up the hilt in the centre of its gut. Then, while it froze in slight shock, disembowelled it with a swing and wrench, carving it open like a fish, and hopped and spun away as it collapsed with an agonised squeal, thudding to the floor of the cavern as its innards, a hideous blackened red spilled onto said ground.

A brief hop forward and sudden vicious stab to back of the skull, where the neck met the head, ended the raging and thrashing of the creature.

But he didn't stop to celebrate the momentary victory.

Without pause he spun around, glancing through the upright stand of stone spires, to find the King. He found it easily enough, glaring all of its hatred at him from its low head through the spires of stone, even as the rest of its body was visible above the wall of stalagmites that separated the two of them. He faintly saw the extremely long tail, a flail of segmented bone, flicker around behind it.

Time for Round Three.

* * *

"Note to file," spoke the blindfolded purplette in his observation dimension as he watched the blonde haired young man prepare himself to take on the largest of the Grimm, "The substance known as what the natives humanoids of this world call Aura seems to be highly reactive to the possessor's state of mind and seeks to preserve the organism that it is bound to, flaring up and becoming stronger when the possessor enters a certain mindset thus triggering an unconscious response. An example of this would be when the youth was surprised by the Grimm's use of its tail and getting a hit in. Scans taken show a momentary spike in his emotional state, particularly in the aspect of fear, followed almost in the same moment by a sudden increase in the amount of energy, Aura, suffusing the youth's skin, making the normal barrier there suddenly increase in power, enabling him to easily shrug off the strike. At first it seemed to be an instinctual response, much like when someone would automatically raise their arms to ward off a blow." Blackwing's eyes narrowed behind his Mystic Eye Killer. "I, however, now believe that there is something more to it.

"Other, more accurate, scans revealed that, while the entirety of the subject's Aura flared in response to the emotional stimuli, there was a heavier, much heavier, concentration of Aura in one particular spot on the subject's body. The spot where he was struck by the Grimm's tail. _Before_ he was struck.

"The minimal data attained before this experiment, followed by the current recordings, has lead me to hypothesize that this 'Aura' seems to have an, at least, rudimentary intelligence or awareness or perhaps even a consciousness. Enough of one to react in the proper manner to emotional stimuli and to have a small awareness of the one it dwells within and a small portion of the immediate surroundings allowing it to act, in a limited manner, in order to preserve the organism."

He frowned slightly to himself, wondering at the connotations that this may have, but continued speaking and recording, "Whether this is entirely unique to the subject or not remains unclear, especially as the subject seems to be unique even amongst the unique, making it difficult to quantify. Further experiments will be needed in the future. End note."

Blackwing's frown became slightly heavier as he clicked off the dictaphone and leaned back in his comfortable chair, still absently and recording observing the images that the surveillance spells showed him while he pondered. This Aura of the world of Remnant was fast becoming more intriguing than he had initially thought, with abilities that, at first, seemed only useful but, when one looked deeper into the 'hows' and 'whys', soon showed themselves to be much much more.

(Some of which made him thoughtful and, dare he think it, apprehensive. Not because of their possible power or function, but because of how _familiar_ they were, particularly in metaphysical mechanics...

He cut off that train of thought before it could develop completely. He did _not_ need those nightmares running around in his head. Just the mere _possibility_ of such a suspicion being true made _him_ shiver.)

Some of the abilities that he had briefly seen the Hunters (not be confused with the Girl Scouts that loyally followed a certain, short-tempered and man-hating Lunar Maiden in a world far removed from the one he was currently on.) of this world exhibit were on the level of some of the Ancestors (albeit the lower ranked ones, ones that could still be killed in a relatively normal manner.) back home, if he were to be generous.

Seriously, there were not many magi or regular Apostles out there who could call up a small localised thunderstorm, complete with basketball sized hail stones and veritable barrages of lightning bolts. Let alone be able to do so at the veritable drop of a hat like that woman had done.

' _Though_ ' he mused slightly on a tangent, ' _that might be because the manipulation of the weather didn't exactly lend itself to creating a path to Akasha.'_

He shook himself out of that trail of thought and put it on the back burner of his mind for later musings and his frown returned. Yes, this world was very interesting and he looked forward to delving deeper into its many mysteries, with the, currently, unwitting help of his new(est) student.

He rose a fine eyebrow as the large vermin Grimm decided to then take a swing at the golden youth.

Provided said student survived long enough, of course.

* * *

It was the only whistling sound it made as it parted the air that allowed him to dodge the massive rodent's opening strike.

Acting on some instinct, he rolled to the side, just in time for a, relatively, thin white blur to smash where he had just been previously standing, shattering stone and pulverising rock.

He paled slightly as he noticed that it had been the creature's tail, moving too fast for him to perceive by sight, that had crashed down, having looped over the entirety of the rodent's large body, the forest of stone spikes and the amount of distance he had placed between himself and said forest, to strike down like a meteor. The spiked mace-like end of the nigh prehensile limb doing an excellent job of looking both nightmarish and alien.

The blonde haired young man just knew he was going to have nightmares about that ball of spiked bone hitting him in the future.

If he lived through this, that is.

He hadn't even seen it move that way, he had only seen it wave back and forth a moment ago.

The youth had feeling that he was in _way_ over his head, and there weren't lifeguards around to pull him out of the deep end right now.

The sudden scrape of stone in conjunction with an eerie rattling noise had him reacting again, rolling backwards, to avoid the bone tail's swipe as the creature whipped it sideways, the sharp and jagged edges of the creature's bony exoskeleton on that appendage passing within mere inches of his body.

Far too close for his comfort.

This started up a deadly game between himself and the large Grimm, a deadly game of cat and mouse where, ironically, it was the mouse that was playing the role of the cat.

Again and again the deadly tail swung, smashed and and swiped, using every inch of the deadly limb to try and kill his frantically dodging form while destroying the floor beneath his feet, making his footing dangerous at times. He had thrown himself into rolls, leaps, slides, drops and hundreds of other manoeuvres that didn't have a name because he made them up on the spot as he tried to avoid being smashed to death.

The prehensile limb was fast, too fast for him to do anything more than follow his instinct to dodge and avoid, he didn't have time to think about blocking or parrying it with his sword, the damned oversized vermin moved it too quickly for him to see and produce a viable counter for the tactic. In addition, the small open space in the roughly circular wall of the nearby stalagmites, that had once proved to be a blessing against the damned creature's smaller kin, now proved to be a death trap for him. He had limited space in which to dodge and, sooner or later, the blasted rodent would figure out how to corral him, which would then result in his death by being beaten into a lump of human jam.

He snarled angrily in frustration (and a slight bit of fear and despair) as he spun away from the flailing tail once more.

It had been a mistake to roll backwards from the second attack, a mistake that he was mentally cussing himself out for in the infinitesimal times between the subsequent attacks. Moving backward, toward the taller pillar of rock within the circle, limited his options even more and put him further away from the source of the problem. He needed a way to get in close to end it, if he did get close enough, he was almost positive that the danger of the tail would, at least, be reduced by a significant amount.

The way the tail was formed, all of those bony vertebrae-like rings, not to mention the size, in length and breadth, of said rings, meant that it was wasn't as flexible as real rat's tail. Much like an animal's spine, the tail could only bend so far before the vertebrae got in each other's way, preventing it from bending or looping any further.

That meant that there was a limit to how far the tail could expand to strike _and_ a limit to how close it could strike at a foe. Get close enough to the front of the oversized cheese eating monstrosity and the tail would be taken out of the equation.

Of course, that would mean having to contend with an irate rodent of huge proportions, and overwhelming physically powerful attributes, with hideously sharp claws and fangs, at melee range.

Not exactly the best scenario to be in, but it certainly gave him a better chance at living than all this exhausting dodging.

But how to get in close?

He rolled again, the dangerous tail tip whistling just over his head, as he thought furiously.

He could charge forward, but that would mean having less time to dodge the flailing tail and, even if he managed to run that gauntlet, he would still have to get through the tall spires of stone, the majority of the gaps between which were too narrow for him to run directly through, meaning he would be unable to defend himself as he squeezed through them, making him easy meat for the rat. He would have to gamble on the whatever power was reinforcing his body, to the point of making his skin like some form of flexible armour, being strong enough to prevent him from being immediately ripped apart by fang and claw.

It wasn't a gamble he wanted to take.

He might be able to climb the towering pillar he had first impacted with, it was tall enough to that close by stalactites along the ceiling had points that were below the pillar's tip. He could get to the top and leap and grasp onto various stalactites until he was over the small 'thicket' and then drop down on to the cave floor.

But that would, again, leave him defenceless and unable to attack, even if he would be just out of range of the rodent's tail. Somehow, though, he doubted that the rodent would deterred. The small 'thicket' was only an inconvenience for a creature of that size and power. He had no doubt that, when the rodent saw his actions, it either leapt over or barge through the barrier to get at him, putting him in a very small arena against a massive foe with his back to the metaphorical wall, making his situation even worse.

If that was even possible.

Sharp whistling made him launch himself back as he came out of the roll, a five foot leap backwards that managed, barely, to allow him to avoid the spiked ball of the creature's tail. Stone broke and shattered and scattered at the blow, making him raise a hand up instinctively to shield his face from the flying debris with a heartfelt curse.

This was getting absolutely ridiculous! If this bout was a boxing match, he was already on the ropes and getting pounded! He growled harshly, low and feral, like a cornered beast, his body throbbing with pain, frustration and anger.

(Unknown to him, his odd cloak brightened, the white embers suffusing it flaring to become tongues of flame, in response to his turbulent and powerful emotions.)

He needed to get out of there! But it wasn't like he could _fly_...!

His blue eyes widened slightly as an idea came to him. It was insane, it was dangerous, and no person in their right mind would have thought of it.

But he didn't have a lot of options.

If he did it right, he may receive more than just a way out of the trap he had made for himself. If he did it wrong...

He tried not to think about that.

He rolled away from another tail strike and eyed it carefully as it whipped back for another blow. His eyes had adjusted slightly to the speed now, enough to for him to at least see the blur it made. If his insane plan was to work, the timing of it had to be perfect, right down to the millisecond.

He watched the deadly tail rise, ominously to his hyper focused mind, rearing up like a scorpion's sting.

 _'Steady.'_ He thought to himself, slowly tensing and relaxing his muscles in preparation for his batshit crazy stunt.

It reached the apex of its arc, of at least ten metres and change (something that made the youth wonder how the creature managed to get around with an appendage that long. Surely it would have gotten in the way at some point, yes?), and seemed to hang there for a moment, the long spines on the ball shaped tip of the tail seeming to glint slightly in the light of the cave, a sword about to fall upon a helpless and downed foe, and showing just about as much mercy.

' _Steady.'_

The grip he had on his blade was tight as he watched the tail then be directed in his direction, the Grimm's weapon aiming to crush him into paste when all its other attempts had not given him a large scratch. Something that the creature planned to remedy quickly if the brief glimpse he got of the vicious and slitted red eyes he could see through the rock 'fence' was any indication. He could practical,y taste the bloodthirsty if the creature as its tail tip, big and deadly, was brought down upon him like the wrath of a divine being, a hammer ready to strike a mighty blow.

As focused as he was upon it, the whistle it normally made as it pierced the air sounded like a demonic roar, the howl of a bloodthirsty beast. But he didn't care about that, only the spiked ball made of a hard ivory substance, that was plunging towards him, meant anything.

A heart beat passed as the deadly tail tip cut the air, the young man's body tensed and ready to move as it did so. The tail covered the distance between the two of them swiftly, aided by the will of the Grimm it was attached to and the primordial force of gravity.

' _Now!'_ The boy mentally howled.

Again, the boy dodged the strike as it came down to crush him, a neat sidestep that put him just out of its reach, but this time it was different. Only the barest of margins separated his body from the tip of an especially sharp point of the tail, so close that a breath of air would have found it difficult to pass between the two.

And, without hesitation, while desperately hoping that his plan would work, his hand snapped out of grasp one of the tail tips spiked points and heaved himself onto it, grasping it desperately and almost adhering himself to it, as it then began to move again.

With a violent jerk, the tail was torn from the ground and back into the air, the young man attached to it like a limpet.

The young man clenched his teeth as he rode the tail of the Grimm. The way it moved and jerked, pulling him hither and yon and willy nilly, was absolutely nauseating. The Grimm seemed to have noticed what he had done, not that that was hard, and was trying to get him to let go, flailing its tail around wildly in an attempt to do so as it roared and howled. Were it not for the fact that the youth was holding for dear life, it might just have worked. But his sense of self-preservation kept him holding tight. He was just thankful that the creature hadn't tried to hammer him into the ground to try and rid itself of him as yet.

That gave him the chance to put phase two of his 'Insanely Daring Plan' into action.

Others would have called it Insane. Period.

He would have to quick, the oversized cheese eater would wisen up eventually and try and pound the ground with its tail. It had shown cunning in the previous part of the engagement. He would have to move before its instincts were forced down by its cunning once more.

He tried to make a guess of his position in the air in accordance with what was below, even as he was whipped around, his hands, even the one that still held his sword, grasping onto the tail tip strongly to try and keep him in place. It was difficult, the speed and unpredictability of the tail's movements allowing him little more than brief shots at a blurred landscape, with the only true light source, which was the glowing cloak on his back, casting dancing shadows as he was fling about violently. But that was fine.

His target was rather distinctive.

He eyed the frill of white bone that stuck up behind the head of the massive rodent, the sharp points gleaming ever so slightly in the flaring light of the cavern, a strong indication as to their sharpness. Getting hit by those would hurt a hell of a lot. Getting _impaled_ by them would probably be a whole lot worse.

He would try to avoid that in as much as he possibly could.

Instead, he tried to focus on the strip of black fur and flesh just behind the frill and in front of where the creature's spiked spine started to appear, where the vermin's head met its neck. A vulnerable spot on any creature (though a part of his mind almost _refused_ to call the oversized rodent that. Said part seemed more comfortable in titling such a being 'Monster'.) , it seemed to be one few viable points he could strike on this one, and a guaranteed kill if he managed to stab his blade full length into that spot. Not to mention it put him out of range of retaliation from either tail, claw or fang, which was a large plus.

Though it was going to be absolute hell to get at said weak spot. Timing and precision were the order of the day, followed by a large helping of luck and chance.

He waited, gripping the tail hard and pulling his body closer to the white bone he clutched while his head rose from contact with the substance so as to allow him to judge, for just the right moment. For when his momentum and position was optimal for the path he had chosen to take.

He felt the moment come, the tail lifted sharply upward so that it was directly over the body of the large Grimm. He clenched hard against the tail, an iron determination filling him...

Then he launched himself downwards into open air, pushing away from the tail tip and accelerating his fall from it using said part of the tail as a brace. There was nothing between him and the Grimm but the damp air of the cavern. Perfect.

Like a hawk after its prey he dived, his face set and eyes narrowed as his body, spread eagled in the air, fell towards his opponent, his sword, his mighty talon and sharp beak, clenched tight in a strong fist and his bright cloak, his burning wings, whipping behind him.

It took him but a moment for him to cross the distance between his former position and the large rodent. A moment in which said rodent had become slightly confused as to why the weight on its tail had disappeared and had shifted a little, almost whirling, making the youth curse slightly in his mind as he tried valiantly to shift himself in the air, seeing that his initial plan for the large vermin's quick death had just failed, in order to gain at least some advantage from the now failed idea.

Instead of his planned landing behind the creature's crown and a swift strike of his sword followed by the creature's death, as per his original plan, the young man landed hard on one of the myriad of bone plates on the creature's body, just off centre of the beast's hideously dangerous spine, on its rump. His sword pierced through said ivory plate and dug itself into the flesh of the creature beneath, anchoring itself, and him, there.

Predictably, the Grimm didn't appreciate it.

It gave an unearthly horrifying squealing roar of pain, agony and rage that made the cavern seem to shake as his ears feel like hot knives were being plugged through them to reach his brain. It was only through sheer self-preservation that his hands, both of them now, kept a hold of the hilt of his sword otherwise he would have placed them over his ears in an attempt to prevent himself from listening to the insanity creating din.

Then things got even worse.

As he manfully held onto the hilt of his sword, the only thing keeping him from sliding off the creature's back, the face of said creature whipped around, flexible and agile like a gymnast, to try and reach the irritation he had created for it.

Those gnashing teeth stopped only a couple of feet away from his own, clacking and chittering and raging as they strived to reach him, the creature's body beneath his feet bucking and twisting and whirling in an insane attempt to reach something just out of reach, like a dog chasing its tail. All the while, venomous crimson eyes glared at him through the bone helm that was over the creature's head, filled with rage and a hunger that wasn't for flesh, but for something more primal, more basic, more blasphemous, than the needs of the flesh.

It was all he could do to hold on to his blade and keep his self anchored to it as the creature thrashed and writhed. Thankfully, for him anyway, the creature was unable to either bring its tail to bear against him, his anchoring point far too close to the base of the creature's flailing tail to reach him, or to simply roll on its back to crush him beneath its rather large weight, the sharp spines on its back making it a difficult proposition for the black furred vermin, at best.

The youth gritted his teeth as the Grimm bucked and thrashed. He wanted to kill the damned critter, not ride it like an idiot at a rodeo! He growled lowly and he held on, his hands clenched tight to his only saving grace.

At least the thrashing on the creature's hind end wasn't as bad as when he had been dangling several metres in the air, desperately adhering himself to the trash eating devil beast's tail.

He grimly held on as the creature leapt and thrashed and bucked, running to and fro around the chamber, brushing up against stalagmites that jutted from floor every now and then to try and scrape him off, like the dirt beneath someone's boots. His position on the creature's back, however, was too close to the centre to be able to do so easily. Every now and then it would whip around to try and get at him itself, trying to grab him with teeth almost deadlier than his own sword, and about as sharp. But he managed to keep himself rooted to the bone plate in which his blade was pierced.

He snarled slightly as the rodent made a sharper whipping turn in attempt to make him lose his footing and bring him within range of its teeth, and only barely avoided it by almost hugging his sword. This entire situation had been a nightmare ever since he and first saw the smallest of the black abominable rodents! He needed a way to end this! Soon!

His blue eyes searched desperately for anything he could use, not that there was much, if anything, in the fur of the creature for him to possibly find except grime and slick muck, while his mind raced to find a possible solution before he made a single mistake or his arms tired from the tight clench he had on his sword.

His only weapon was currently unavailable, piercing the bone and flesh of the Grimm and keeping him in a relatively safe spot, so long as he kept close to it. However, it also left him devoid of anything that he could use to attack the beast. If he had a back up weapon or just something sharp...

A sudden and unexpected lurch and buck of the creature he was riding made him tip forwards as his mind wandered, his grip slipping from the leather wrapped hilt slightly. It was only through luck and chance that his madly scrabbling hands were able to grip the sword again, this time by the crossguard, one hand on each 'branch', and stop him from skewering his eyeballs on the nasty looking spines that ran along the length of the rodent's back.

It would not have been a please tell way to go.

A sudden thought crossed his mind as he desperately held on as the Grimm below him squealed and rage and thrashed. Riding the momentum and ensuring his feet had a firm footing, he ignored the gnashing teeth of his foe, and current ride, and instead looked closer at the painful looking spines.

They were short, to a point, with a thick circular base that was almost welded on top of the external vertebrae and slowly rose upwards with the slightest of curves and tapering with every passing inch before reaching a narrow, and exceedingly sharp, tip almost three quarters of a foot later. If he were honest, they each looked like an oversized version of a snake's fang, though far less fragile and much more solid. It would take a fair bit of force to even crack one of the things, let alone break them completely.

His eyes narrowed as he braced himself again as the roaring Grimm made another attempt to buck him off.

Perhaps...just perhaps...

He mentally shrugged in indifference. It wasn't like he had any other options aside from a painful execution by being gnawed to death by the oversized rodent. And he would like to live to see another day, thank you very much!

Without another thought, he put his half-baked plan into action.

He moved his left hand swiftly from the cross guard of his sword to the leather wrapped hilt, holding it tightly, even as he braced the sole of one his boots against the visible portion of his sword and, using it as anchor point (a blasphemous action to many a warrior), to lean over toward the ungodly sharp spines, his right hand reaching out grasp one of them even as the vile creature he was in top of seemed to be driven into a maddened frenzy, the creature's actions becoming increasing wild and vicious, making things so much harder than they already were.

His hand touched the slightly rough piece of the bone-like substance that made up the deadly sharp white spike and curled around it, making a fist and gripping it close to the base. He felt his shoulder muscles judder and stretch uncomfortably for a moment as the Grimm bucked again, making him feel like the rope in a tug-of-war, but manfully ignored it and continued with his plan.

His eyes narrowed and teeth clenched as his grip around the spike tightened, determined to end this madness. Then he started to apply pressure to the spike, muscles tensing and working against the solid substance, trying to make it break, to make it yield before his might.

At first nothing happened, the spike standing resolute against the strength of his muscles, a testament to the power of Nature's design (though he wasn't exactly sure that Nature would approve of the entity that currently bore it.), but it only made him more determined to see his plan through, to succeed, knowing that it was, possibly, his only hope.

Muscles bulged and his brow sweated while tendons felt like they were groaning under the pressure he was putting on them, the entirety of his focus on what he was attempting and clutching on to his sword anchor out of little more than instinct. He was pushing his body to the limits to try and break the damned piece of spiny carapace, and his body was starting to protest against the amount of force he was using.

But still the bone would not yield to him.

' _You will break!'_ He growled mentally, determination and self-preservative fear driving him on, grasping on to the faint light of hope before him, unwilling to give up a chance at survival, even if it seemed just out of reach, ' _you will break and yield before me!'_

 _(In a place that both existed and yet didn't, a metaphysical plane of existence that was anchored to reality, the physical realm, by a single strand, a life, a_ _ **soul**_ _, something began to move. If one could actually be in the blank expanse of white darkness, they could have heard the slow and heavy whirring of metal, like a vast metallic beast awakening from its slumber._

 _And with that whirring, the light, white and gold and filled with purity and majesty, of might and power, that had only just begun to appear within the expanse a little while before the whirring began starting up, seemed to blossom, suddenly expanding and growing as it started filling the area.)_

The young man, for a moment, thought he hallucinated a bit, a sudden vision appearing before him. It was of a metal disc, one that both filled his vision and yet, some part of him told him, impossibly vast and beyond his comprehension. Upon that simple but massive disc was the carving of a stylised sun, a circle with a cone-like triangle just touching it at each cardinal point while smaller triangles of the same type hovered between each point, making an eight pointed/rayed star/sun. And, strangely, one part of it, the centre circle, was glowing a soft gold.

Then his vision vanished, returning him to reality, and things got strange, in a welcomed way.

As if in answer to his demands (prayers), he felt a warmth flood through him, also it identical to feeling he had when the strange power flowed from his body and into his belongings, and the light of the cavern suddenly seemed to become brighter, while, at the same time, he felt his muscles tense harder, surpassing the limits he had found moments before. He felt himself, somehow, become stronger, mightier.

And, with a loud _crack!_ , he broke the spike off of the rodent's back, almost easily, and immediately the broken spike he now held began to glow slightly. A match for the faint glow he now noticed on his skin.

He didn't waste time thinking about the whys or wherefores of the act, survival came first.

He shifted his body slightly, angling his torso so that he was facing toward the front of the maddened creature he was atop of, his body still having that underlying _powerful_ feeling to it, an undercurrent of strength. For what he had planned, he would need it.

It was with almost perfect timing that he turned, as the crowned rodent, its crimson eyes feral and disturbing, had once more whipped around to try and rid itself of the irritation attached to it, teeth gnashing impotently at him and its horrid grating squeals making his ears ring.

Making it open for his planned reprisal.

Taking quick aim, his right arm shot out, launching the makeshift bone weapon he had appropriated from the rodent's own body. To his surprise, the bone protrusions flew like a bullet from a gun, so fast that he could only see it due to the strange whitish-golden glow that was around it.

With a sound like thunder, it left his hand and, like lightning, it struck his targeted foe, hitting the part of the rodent's body he had aimed for.

However loud and powerful the shrieks it may have emitted were before, they had nothing on the soul juddering cacophony that erupted from its throat as his makeshift weapon struck true, destroying one of the creature's crimson eyes utterly. It reared back, going on its hind legs alone, and howled in agony as it instinctively tried to get as far away as possible from the cause of its pain, its claws scrabbling at its eye socket to try and get the projectile out of the broken egg-like mess that one of its eyes had become.

The young man felt his mouth twist into a grim smile even as he held onto the back of the thrashing creature. The plan had worked so far, but he didn't think he needed to follow it all the way to the end game, not anymore.

He released his grip on one of the creature's spines and stood full height for a moment, the angle at which he was doing so almost tipping him completely over, and with his glowing hand that still gripped his bright sword, pulled the gently luminescent blade from its place stabbed through the bone place and into the creature's dark flesh with a grating hiss and equal ease, as he were drawing it from its own sheath.

He had another plan, one that was only possible due to the strength that now suffused his muscles and sinews.

To cut it down.

He leapt off of the hind end of the still screeching beast, his eyes locked with his first target.

A single swing of his blade, a strike whilst he was still airborne and passing it by, was all that he needed to sever the giant rodent's deadly tail from its body, his glowing sword cutting through bone and flesh with equal ease, taking away the larger vermin's main weapon.

He landed lithely on his feet and was instantly whirling and moving, sprinting across the rocky terrain as the Grimm whirled about in rage and his cloak trailed behind him like a flaring ember in the wind, a howl of pain and anger erupting from its throat as it sought him, still reared back on its hind feet.

A mistake on its part.

He was smaller in comparison to the creature, especially with it reared back the way it was, and used that to his advantage, running low and swiftly and his sword poised to strike. And strike he did.

He got close to the creature, low enough neither its front claws or its gnashing teeth could reach him unless it dropped back to all fours, and struck out again. His gleaming sword pierced relatively shallowly into the creature's gullet. He didn't stop moving though and kept running. This had the consequence of him almost dragging his embedded blade across the rodent's stomach from one side to another, the sword only leaving the flesh of the creature when he kept sprinting onwards and away from the injured beast, his golden glowing feet lending him metaphorical wings.

His actions, as a result, disembowelled the creature, its putrid guts falling out of the hole in its flesh and spilling over the floor of the cavern, like a fish that had just been gutted.

The creature gave another cry, weaker this time, and fell back, almost slumping, onto all fours. He noticed the creature's legs buckle and quiver slightly as it did so. It was weakened now.

Its head turned, trying to track his movements as he circled around it, slowly and groggily, to glare at him with its single eyed gaze. The completely crimson orb, lacking even a pupil or an iris, conveyed to him naught but hate and rage and madness, the hunger that he had seen within those scarlet pools vanished beneath the weight of the pain he had inflicted on it.

Weakened and pained as it was, practically on its deathbed, it was clearly still willing to do all that it could to kill, to destroy, him, no matter what happened to it. It would not retreat to try and lick its wounds. To the creature, there was only victory or oblivion once battle was joined. It was like it was almost _driven_ to do so, by some unknown force or instinct that he could not perceive.

This was not normal animal behaviour. Yet, in the depths of his soul, something told him that this was what a Grimm did, that this suicidal foolishness was the typical behaviour of a Grimm.

Disturbed by his thoughts, he decided to end this now.

He abruptly twisted on the balls of his feet, his boots crushing stone beneath them due to the force needed to make a sudden movement, and shot towards the entity that had given so much grief this day. He was within the creature's range swiftly, a series of easy dodges allowing him to easily bypass the creature's sluggish movements and attacks from both claw and fang. It was almost insulting how easy it was to move around the half-hearted attacks. Especially with whatever it was that was still empowering him at that moment.

Then a single strike from him ended it. Ducking below the gnashing fangs and its half blinded face, he stabbed his sword, as deep as it could go, through its throat, the flesh almost parting like water before its sharpness and the tip of the blade blossoming from the back of its neck.

Then he casually _ripped._

Flesh was rent and torn, making a gaping hole in the beast's neck, and it was only his increased reactions and strength that made him able to leap away from the veritable fount of the creature's substitute for blood that erupted and avoid getting covered in the gore.

As he landed on his feet, breathing slightly heavily, a distance away, his mind slightly boggling at the exact distance he had travelled with a single leap, the creature's body slumped onto its belly, its feet collapsing beneath it, with a loud thud.

Dead.

The youth stared at the corpse of his fallen foe, taking deep gulps of air as a sudden feeling of relief and tiredness seemed to wash over him, the light of the cavern dimming ever so slightly to his blue eyes, his no longer glowing sword, save for the dim pommel jewel, suddenly becoming a little heavier, barely noticeable but there, the tip of it resting on the stone floor, and his muscles seeming to sag slightly, whether from relief that he was still alive or for some other unknown reason he didn't know or care at that moment in time, making it take a small effort to stand.

He had another flicker of a vision, of the stylised sun, this time showing that the circle that had once been glowing gold had dimmed, shifting to a small whitish-blue with flecks of gold flickering through it. He put the strange thing out of his mind and down to his physical weariness. He didn't have the desire to indulge on his own delusions when survival was more important.

That...had been one _hell_ of a brawl. And not one that he was willing to repeat any time soon, if he could help it.

Blue eyes flicked around the now silent cavern, taking in the shattered columns of ancient stone and other damage that been wrought by the oversized vermin in the fight. His eyes narrowed in puzzlement and suspicion as he saw that, save for the giant one he had just killed, the rest of the bodies of the rodent's were no longer in sight, their black flesh no longer seen. He did note, however, that the bone carapaces that they all had were still there, bleached bone grave markers to the passing of a beast.

So where had the rest of the dark creature's corpses gone?

That question was only one of the myriad that surged through his mind, and it wasn't the most important one either. His mind was confused and he felt a headache starting to develop behind his left eye from all the crap he had been through for the last day. He was really wishing that it could end some time soon, he had enough on his plate that he didn't want to borrow more trouble.

The young man sighed heavily, as he, wearily, straightened up and, with an unconscious flick of his hand, spun his oddly immaculate sword, strangely free from any marring from scratches against bone or splatter from the guts and gore it had cut through, around and smoothly sheathed it in a practiced motion.

"Well," he spoke to himself tiredly, now alone in the large cavern, "that was a thing." He released a gusty sigh.

"Now," he said softly to himself, his brow wrinkling as he turned around, seeking for his original purpose of entering the cavern, ignoring the trashed state of it. His eyes alighted on his initial reason and began trudging forward, toward the trio of tunnels that exited the cavern.

"Which way to go?" He asked himself as he stood before the combined entrances to the three tunnels, pondering and looking around.

It took him a few minutes to discern what he thought was the correct path to take, the same tunnel that the rodent's had used to enter the cavern in the first place, with the tried and true method of scenting for fresh air and feeling for a slight breeze with his dimmed, but still bright, cloak.

Then he trudged on, uncaring of his leaving behind a shattered cavern and the exoskeleton of dead Grimm behind him.

* * *

"Impressive," mused Blackwing as his monitoring spells showed the young man tiredly trudge through the opening into the tunnel, one that the wielder of the Third True Magic knew would lead to the outside and the world beyond the dark caverns. "Quite impressive...for an amateur."

The battle with the largest of the rodent like Grimm had been a veritable fount of data and information for the experiment. The way the boy's Aura reacted in his time of need, if what he had seen within the boy's soul was what he thought it was, regardless of the sheer impossibility of it...

But the signs were there. The fact that he was able to wear the cloak and have it act in such a manner, the fact that he was able to even wield the blade that Blackwing had left for him, one of the many treasured tools that he had obtained through various means over the years, meant that the boy was something that was not normal, that didn't conform to expectations of society...or reality.

That he was unique. And all the more powerful for it.

Yes, he was glad that he had taken a gamble with the boy. He might not be a proper baseline for him to lay the foundations of his experiments upon, but if the boy could possibly achieve, to reach, the heights of power that his sight had seen dwelling within the depths of his soul...

But that was a long way off. The youth was only just learning how to crawl, he still had to learn how to walk and run before he could reach those lofty heights. And that would take time, a great deal of it, and even more experiences, both good and bad.

Thankfully, for him and not for his student/guinea pig, this world was rife with challenges to met, even with Blackwing's own intervention. Those challenges would push the young amnesiac to meet them and overcome them if he wished to survive.

And both the boy and he would reap the benefits. The boy would obtain what he long sought, Might and Power, and indeed had already done so, ever so slightly, when he had exhibited that strength whilst atop the rump of the large rat. The resonance of the boy's soul and power had been hard to miss.

While he, Blackwing, would take his payment for services rendered in the form most dear to him, that of Knowledge.

He would, of course, have to ensure that the boy had the tools he needed to keep on going, whether it be in goods or knowledge, for him to obtain said Knowledge, but that didn't matter much to him. He wasn't a very materialistic person, save for the fact that said materials were needed to further his pursuit of knowledge and aid his experiments.

It was why he had gifted the boy with the cloak and sword freely, even if it was in aid of an experiment, where other magi would never dare even think of such a thing, especially considering the value, both in financial and other terms, of those particular objects.

Speaking of the boy...

Blackwing looked at the illusionary screens that reflected what his surveillance spells viewed, a small grin, devilish and devious, like that of his Grandfather, crossed his lips as he saw where the youth now was.

His reaction would, no doubt, be quite amusing.

(In the back of his mind and soul, a rather rambunctious and blood thirsty being shook her head. Why, oh _why_ , did her Origin have to take after his damned Grandfather so much?)

* * *

The currently nameless young man gave a small sigh of relief as he saw the begin to lighten ahead of him, even beyond that of the light shone from his strange, but very much welcome, cloak. A sign that light from beyond the tunnels and caverns, from the land outside, was able to penetrate into the underground passage way, meaning that he was probably quite close to the surface in some way. It was a welcome thought for him, the darkness of the underground passages, though heavily mitigated by his wonderful cloak, made him feel squashed and pressured, as if the weight of the entire mountain loomed over his shoulders, ready to crush at a moments notice.

It was not a feeling that he particularly enjoyed experiencing and welcomed any respite that he could from it, few though they were as, to his surprise, as he went on through the deep earthen maze, he had found that it was completely empty of any other surprises. He encountered no other Grimm or, oddly enough and something that made him more than a little apprehensive, indeed any other animal like that of a hanging bat, a roosting bird, a sheltering reptile or even any hint of a sign of insects. The tunnels were completely barren of life, something that was very much unnatural.

There was something very weird about these formations of stone. And that made him cautious, to an extent. It was not enough to deter him from his path, but enough to make him walk with his hand near the hilt of his sheathed sword, ready to draw and wield it with his still tired body at a moments notice.

He took heart, however, in the fact that his goal was almost in sight, making his stride longer and steps swifter in the anticipation of leaving the barren tunnels. His sharp eyes were still watchful though, and his senses tense and sharp. It would not do to fall down with the end in sight.

It was because he was so tense, his senses tuned for anything out of the ordinary that may possibly be a sign for an ambush, a trap or other deceitful and surprise attack, that he noticed other things about the tunnel he moving through. Things didn't quite make sense (at least to him.).

The tunnel was, while not uniform in height or width, never seemed to drop below a certain height, about a foot or two above his own height, nor did the walls come too close to each other, making it comfortable for him to walk through, if not fight with his sword. The walls also, while having lumps and bulges in it, was also quite smooth, no jagged stone jutting from the walls that could have torn into him if he had brushed against it. Even the floor of the path he took was strangely smooth, having no loose stones or the rough texture he had expected in comparison to the previous paths he had taken in this venture.

His eyes narrowed in thought slightly, before widening to the size of dinner plates as the reason for these unnatural features was because they _were_ unnatural. As in not shaped by the patient and idle hand of the planet and time, but by the hasty and measured tools of humanity.

His footsteps quickened, his boots thumping against the floor of the passage, as the light of hope flared within his breast. Where humanity had left its mark upon the world, literally carving their names and deeds into the planet itself, humanity was never far away, rarely straying from these areas of importance. That meant that there may be a settlement close by! One that he might have checked in with if his suddenly revealed knowledge, if not memories, of travelling etiquette and safety were in any way accurate.

One that may have a chance of letting him recover what he had lost. His memories. His past. His _name._

His footsteps pounded the stone floor, his heart beating furiously, as he almost sprinted through the stone passage, his cloak whipping behind him like a fluorescent banner.

The light from the outside soon merged with that of his cloak. After several twists and turns, which made him absently wonder how the light from outside had managed to penetrate into the curling caverns and passages, he abruptly halted, his boots skidding and grinding against the floor to halt his forward motion, as he saw a sight that left him breathless.

A simple rough archway carved out of the stone that made up the passages and caves, creating a great hole. A hole that revealed the outside world to him.

There wasn't really much to see from where he was, but that sight was all that he needed to know that he had found the exit to this, frankly, frightening abyss of stone.

It was a simple tree, weathered and beaten and gnarled, with white bark and long branches that were sparse of leaves yet still retaining enough to be called alive and green and able to make semi-adequate shade from the sun. It was precariously perched upon the lip of cliff of stone that extended past the entrance of the cave, branches hanging both out into space over the cliff and extending back towards the cave entrance. It was was wide enough, and the little cliff seemingly small enough, for the youth to see only flickers of the outside world past it as weak light, from what he assumed to be the sun, poured through the many gaps in the leaves and branches. It most probably did quite well in shielding the entrance into the caverns from casual view from the outside.

But that didn't matter to him. The fact that he had found the exit did, meaning he hadn't gotten lost in the winding chaos of stone below the earth.

And now he would be able to set foot into the real world and seek out answers for the myriad of his own questions. A literal journey of self discovery now awaited him as soon as he set foot out of the cavern entrance and into the free air, unburdened by the heavy weight of rock and stone he had walked beneath and through.

He didn't hesitate to take that step, the semi-shiny leather of his boots flickering as his feet crossed the slash of sunlight that, coincidentally, bordered the threshold hold between cavern and cliff.

He felt the difference immediately, or perhaps it was just his imagination. The air suddenly seemed fresher, more livelier, with a hint of scent that he somehow knew as wild flowers, losing the dank and damp scent that had continuously plagued him upon waking up in the dark cavern and followed him through the veritable warren of tunnels and passages.

Another feeling of warmth enveloped him, barely noticeable beneath his softly glowing and warm cloak but still known. It was that of the sun in open air, the soft, and sometimes harsh, hand of the life-giving orb in the sky, dispensing its blessing/curse to one and all, man or beast, hero or villain, with an even hand, as fair as anything could be.

Some part of him, deep within his soul, relaxed as he felt those golden rays caress him and resonated with the feeling, as if he was being welcomed home after a long and tiring journey. A small crossed his face as strode onto the cliff.

While the world underground, as strange as it may have seemed and as filled as it was with various awe-inspiring wonders he had noticed only in passing, was _interesting_ (if only one word could be used to describe the completely different world in the caverns.) it was not a place for him. He could endure it, maybe even have enjoyed it if circumstances were different for him, but was not a place that he would ever have felt entirely comfortable with.

Having felt the golden light upon his skin, he knew now that he would always yearn, in some way, for that light's touch and would always seek out that warm caress.

His eyes flickered around, taking in the sight of the small cliff lip he found himself on, a small shelf of unyielding stone that projected from the cavern's entrance, though there wasn't much to honestly see, the large tree taking up the vast majority of his view.

The stone of the cliff, unsurprisingly considering his observations within the tunnels, was smooth, clearly touched and shaped by the hands of sentient beings. He was also quick to notice, with his sharp blue eyes, a slightly rough and scuffed depression in the surface of the stone. One that lead, snake like, from the centre of the cavern's mouth and curled over to the left of the outcropping.

It was a path. Worn and obviously unused for some time now, likely utterly abandoned right then, but had previously seen heavy use if the trail in the hard stone was still there, worn and scuffed like that. It would have taken many years for humanity to do something like that with only their feet and tread.

He was quick to follow it towards the rim of the outcropping where it then just disappeared.

A quick glance over the rim showed why.

A steep, very steep, almost a ladder really, set of stone steps, many of them looking to be rather cracked and shattered but still wide enough for six men to walk abreast, shoulder to shoulder, and long enough for two of him to lay end to end, descended for quite a ways downward, making him swallow dryly and grimace. It would have been absolute hell to climb up those damn things, and he wasn't betting against them being just as much of a pain to descend down. It might honestly be easier to either slide down the damn thing, or even leap over the side to the rocky ground he could a few hundred yards below!

He grimaced slightly. He was not looking forward to it.

His blue eyes followed a well worn path that began past the end of the steps and across the suspiciously flat sparsely grassed field they terminated in. His eyes narrowed as he saw patches of deep black within the grass but continued following the straight path, a narrow furrow of empty space in a large grassy plain. Further and further he looked, craning his head to do so, even as it became invisible to his eyes and he simply followed the direction it went in, the light of what seemed to be a late afternoon sun lighting his way.

It definitely wasn't an animal path or game trail. Nature, as a rule, didn't follow straight lines for the most part.

This was a _road._ Which explained the black spots he could see, the colour of bitumen and tar that was used to create sealed roads for vehicle traffic. Not something that creatures would be able to make.

It was one more piece of evidence toward a possible settlement being nearby. Though he was rather worried at the state of the road and the clearly man-made structures...and what it may indicate.

His eyes finally reached to just below the horizon when saw it.

In the great distance, white light gleamed and shimmered and shone, reflected off of some material and making him wince slightly in pain as it struck his eyes. He blinked heavily, swearing slightly, trying to recover from the glare.

His hand rubbed his eyes vigorously before he slowly opened them again, squinting hard and his face slightly down turned to ward off the glare.

His focused eyes were eventually able to make out the vague shapes of the glare's origin in the distance, almost looking like a small set of hills from the distance, the tops looking strangely squared off.

But he knew better. While he wasn't one hundred percent certain, the evidence was certainly mounting up.

He glowered at the object in the distance. There was no way in hell that he would be able to reach the object before nightfall, even if he ran all the way. He was in a strange place with limited options and no idea of the dangers that were about. He wasn't about to add to his already heavy burdens by foolishly walking in the dark, not knowing what was out there. With his cloak glowing like it did, even just softly, he would stick out like a sore thumb and would be easy target to attack and track.

And something told him that being a walking glowing target in the long grass of the plain was _not_ a good idea.

He had already fought quite the battle today, he had no desire to add to his exhaustion and tempt fate just to try a reach a location that's situation he knew nothing of but, considering the wear and tear of the place around him, probably wasn't too good.

He nodded firmly to himself, decision made, and twisted on his heels, moving back into the caves. A semi-decent dinner of trail mix and jerky, along with some rest, would do him wonders for the long march he planned for the next day.

* * *

 **Author's Notes**

 _ **Hey folks,**_

 _ **Another chapter of this story down. I hope you enjoyed the fight scene, it was the most difficult scene I have ever written and, honestly, the first time I have ever tried to do a proper fight scene. My apologies if it came out a bit rough but, hopefully, I will be able to improve as time goes on.**_

 _ **I will also try to, in future, condense the story down, to try and stop the chapters of my stories from being associated with the description of 'long-winded drivel'. Much like the second chapter of my Percy Jackson/Campione story 'A Voyage Toward the Stars'.**_

 _ **At least the commenter said it privately.**_

 _ **Grimm Profile**_

 _Species: Rat-tale_

 _Description: Their name pretty much says it all. They look like Oversized Rats, the 'younger' ones generally the size of a large dog, with a very long tail. The 'younger' of the species generally have little in the way of the white bone armour that the Grimm are so noted for, but 'older' ones seem to develop a fair bit of it, notably on their heads and down their spines and along their tails._

 _The older ones also develop a hard ball of bone, sometimes spiked and sometimes not, on the tips of their long tails._

 _Habitat: These guys like dark and enclosed spaces. Caves are their normal hang outs but, due to a Grimm's desire to destroy sentient life, they also love the cities of the Kingdoms, much like their animal lookalikes and can infiltrate them with little difficulty. It is a constant problem, and duty, for the Hunters to patrol the cities and prevent these Grimm from entering or, if they have already entered, to exterminate them with prejudice._

 _Behaviour: Rat-tales are, much like their true animal brethren, sneaky and sly. They love to ambush, when alone. However, they rarely are._

 _When in a large group, they swarm their chosen prey like a wave, trying to crush it under the weight of sheer numbers._

 _Numerous records exist about swarms of over **one hundred** of these Grimm amassing together and attacking at once._

 _Abilities: Physically, these critters are the smallest and weakest of the various species of Grimm (whilst also being fast and very agile), at least in their 'young' stage, and are easily dispatched alone and in small groups, making them a nuisance to trained Hunters, at best. Even non-Hunters can deal with this type._

 _But their strength doesn't lie in individual physical might. It is numbers that they are made dangerous. Their strength is in Quantity, not Quality, at that stage. A Horde of a hundred small ones could present a decent danger to a lone Hunter, or even a pair._

 _And their threat only gets worse as they age._

 _Once they progress past the young stage, they will have developed a large mace head on the end of their tails, and are very willing to use it to crush the bones of those they want to kill by spinning on their toes and bringing the tail tip around like a powerful flail. Reports indicate that these attacks are able to break a prepared Hunter's ribs in it connects._

 _But it is nothing in comparison to when they reach the 'King' stage of their cycle._

 _Easily matching an Ursa in size, or even larger in some rare cases, this stage of the Grimm's cycle is intimidating. The whole tail is now a massive weapon, not just the tip, becoming an unholy amalgamation of a whip made of serrated bone vertebrae and a scorpion's sting. It is nigh prehensile and the Grimm, at this stage, is experienced enough to take advantage of that. Their strength is also nothing to scoff at and their agility is scary for something that size._

 _It should also be noted that this species of Grimm is highly sensitive to Aura, able to sense it, and the soul that produces it, from a fair distance away, regardless of the barriers between them and the Aura._

 _Tactics: One on one, these are easily dispatched and merit no special tactic for a Hunter. But as a Horde...that is a different matter._

 _Always watch your back or partner up. When facing a Horde of this type, never assume that the ones in front of you are all that there is to see. Chances are you have already missed one and it is going for your ankles or the back of your neck._

 _In regards to the Big Cheese's...either pick them off at a distance, a difficult prospect considering their reaction times and sensitivity to Aura, or get in close to their flanks or face._

 _Their deadly tail has a minimum range, getting closer to the Grimm than said range and you take that weapon out of the equation. Of course that means you are facing in excess of one hundred pounds of pissed off rodent, but that's just any day at the office for a Hunter._

 _Threat Level: E ~ C (depending on the development stage of said Grimm)_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed the chapter,**_

 _ **Kujikiri21**_


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